


The Remnants

by TannicFlesh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Gay Sex, Horror, Light Angst, M/M, Monster sex, Monsters, Multi, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Werewolf Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-07-24 15:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16177841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TannicFlesh/pseuds/TannicFlesh
Summary: Taylor, a young taciturn man, has gone to his family cabin...in the woods. There's something in the woods. It has a dick.He's kind of a dick too.





	1. Chapter 1

Warnings: **VERY non-consensual** gay/beast sex. This is **fantasy** for a reason - I do  not advocate for non-con or dub-con IRL, at all. In fact, the “moral” of this story is pretty awful when I think about it.

  * Some mild animal gore - but no Guro - not my thing.



Disclaimer!  There are rather ignorant and offensive views expressed by the main character (he says "fag" a lot for one thing). These are not my views, they are his. I usually try and narrate for the most part in the character’s language/perspective, so some of that comes across in prose as well.

 

** THE REMNANTS: CHAPTER 1 **

 

***

**SATURDAY**

 

He’d arrived the night before and left the cabin early, before dawn. He’d trucked to stretch of forest 15 minutes away, and the morning had found him tracking what he thought was a deer through the woods as the pleasantly blue light of the morning filtered through the trees. He’d reflected that this light seemed both more clear and hazier in some way, when he’d come across the remnants.

Taylor stood looking down at the doe, its blood dried in places into a blackened crimson that mixed indistinguishably with spattered mud where its belly was violently ripped open, still oozing in places. It smelled, not the sickening sweetness of long dead flesh ripening, but a heavy, ruddy earthiness that had a pungent sharpness that felt like it was clinging to the inside of his lungs as he breathed, slowly in the cool morning air. The woods around him were still, unnaturally, and it seemed it was more than the lingering fog that kept the sunlight wrapped in a stubborn grey. He’d come here to hunt clear his mind, and was no stranger to violence. _But that’s it, this too violent._ He reflected on his own thought, _...too violent for what?_

The trees around him were mostly oaks and poplars, they stood tall but their trunks were not wide as ancient trees, and though they still were dense with green many had begun to shift in the mid-October air towards the rich autumnal hues of orange and red, and the ground was covered in the crunchy brown detritus of discarded foliage. But there was a stillness that suddenly felt unnatural, and he turned his head around trying to move as little as possible (though unsure where this caution came from), scanning the scattered trees and underbrush, the vines that curled up the trunks so thickly in some places that the separation of tree and vine became meaningless. He knew these woods, but suddenly the shadows and curling fog seemed like they were hiding something, the grey-blue mist the only discernible movement, as though everything had fled at the sight of the unnatural mutilation of the deer. _Unnatural._ That’s how it was too violent he realized, as the word seemed to reverberate in his head.

He frowned inwardly, his grip tightened on his rifle. His heart was beating fast and he was annoyed at his own rising fear, he knew these woods, and knew they held little to fear. Even the black bears occasionally glimpsed were small and harmless unless provoked. _No bear did this._ The rifle was older, classic, his father had taught him to keep it in condition, and it was no less powerful or accurate for its age. Though Taylor would never admit it to himself, using an older heavier rifle made him feel like a man compared to those who treated hunting like they were women dressing up for a date. All that fancy equipment didn’t make you a dominant hunter - though now, for the first the first time his heavy gun felt insignificant for reasons he could not explain.

 

 **_SNAP._ ** A twig, somewhere to his left behind him, had issued the noise.

 

He ran. He fled unthinking back towards his Jeep, the dim orb of the sun and familiar trees guiding him, his fear pushing him as the silence was torn asunder around him. The complaint of desiccated leaves beneath his boots seemed incredibly loud, it was too loud, there was something else there, and whatever it was maintained distance but it too crashed through leaves and branches. It was so horribly loud, the tree branches were whipping out to grab him but he snapped through them, the vines reached up for his leg and grabbed his right boot and he stumbled but somehow stayed up.

The Jeep wasn’t far now, he could make out its dark green shadow, he was running down hill towards it, leaping over a fallen tree, he skid as he landed on wet leaves and fell hard on his ass. He turned his head as he pushed back up, but saw nothing, heard nothing now, but he felt it - something dark and malign, it’s eyes fixed on him. _It’s playing with me._ He fled. Though he’d smirked when he got the Jeep at silly things like the door clicker (which, like his gun, seemed like something no man would really need)  now he fished it from his pocket, his heavy rifle clutched tightly in his other hand, the chirp of the unlocking mechanism sounding like a song a salvation.

He ripped the door open, thrust his rifle in and practically fell in behind, he felt sure that as he closed the door it would emerge and climb in side to devour him, but the door slammed shut cleanly. _It._ What was it?

He scanned out the window, but there was that stillness again, nothing moved - even the lazily drifting mist seemed to hold still in anticipation. Nothing happened. He cranked the engine, his breathing still heavy and the blood rushing through his temples pounded like ritualistic drums. He backed the car onto the dirt track, and slowly pulled away down the bumpy path - his adrenaline and fear pulsed all the way to the main road back to Burrow.

 

***

 

“Hey Taylor, up for the weekend?”

 

He hated his name. He thought it was unmasculine, and ever since he was a kid playing cops and robbers, he’d tried to be called something else, somthing short, strong - like heroes in action movies. In high school he lobbied unsuccessfully to get his friends ( _assholes_ ) to call him ”T” but they’d laughed at him or ignored him. When he’d gone away to the University of South Carolina, he’d tried to go by Jack (his middle name was Jackson, after all), but his asshole professors called him the name he’d registered under, and his friends somehow picked it up too.

It was Van who’d hailed him - the kid of local store owners who’d helped there since he graduated high school the same year as Taylor - they lived closest to his cabin (though it was still a solid mile through the woods) and they had known each other since they were kids, but Taylor had never been friendly. He just nodded to Van, who stood behind the counter as Taylor placed his box of spaghetti and red sauce down to pay. He was a bit taller than Taylor, who was himself six feet (well, they said five foot eleven at the doctor’s office, but he said he was six feet) slim and dark featured, his face was clean shaven and narrow but handsome in a kind of suspicious way, if you cared about that kind of thing. His acne had cleared up, and he seemed broader in the shoulder this year - Taylor guessed he was a faggot, and tried to interact with him as little as he could. “Yeah, fall break, couple days hunting.” The other rang up his groceries, and when Taylor paid the other looked at him with a strange smile that made him feel uncomfortable, his eyes held him for a moment and seemed to look through him - like he knew something Taylor was hiding. “Well, be careful” Van said as he turned to cash the twenty dollar bill, his voice was light and almost forcibly flippant, “there’s been some weird stuff going on in the woods around the cabins” he turned back and his eyes had that weird intensity to them again, “animals turning up dead” as he handed Taylor his change he leaned forward smiling perversely as he said “eviscerated.” Taylor flinched as much from the others’ hand touching his as from the word.

He stood there awkwardly for a moment, before gathering himself and making sure he gave the other a look of bored contempt as he picked up his pasta and sauce, “no sweat” he said, trying to make his voice even and disinterested. “Faggot” he muttered under his breath as the other watched him push open the screen front door and go out into the persistent grey of the day.

 

***

 

The further he’d gotten from his early morning encounter, the more foolish he’d felt. He’d had his rifle, and his handgun in the car - but more than that - he knew these woods as well as anyone. The woods he’d driven to hunt were connected to those that surrounded the family cabin, dug into the verdant North Carolina forest that swayed on the gently sloping mountains that protected the quaint town of Burrow. Now as he drove past them, he felt himself flush with embarrassment at his own behavior, his irrational fear at seeing a dead deer – something he’d seen a hundred times. _Acting like a scared little girl._ There was nothing in these woods to challenge him, and he decided he’d just been scaring himself - and it annoyed him to no end.

Lot’s of things annoyed him. Taylor didn’t reflect on his attitude much – guys shouldn’t be too introspective, he thought – but he’d been a taciturn person ever since his adolescence, when he’d suddenly started to feel uncomfortable in his own skin. Though he’d never admit it to himself, he always had a lingering doubt - a feeling like he wasn’t really a man. Not physically – he’d come to know through others’ treatment he was nice looking, a handsome man with blond hair he let grow a little on top but kept closer on the sides, he was muscular but slender, and his locker room experience and a few times with girls informed he was well equipped. But he’d lived in constant fear someone was going to one day see that somehow, deep down he was really not a man - even though he had no idea what that meant. So many of his choices – from his choice of gun, to his joining the football team in high school and giving up video games – he’d done because he decided that’s what guys are supposed to do. He didn’t consciously dwell on these things, it was really more a kind of constant frustration. He was still irritated he’d been made wide receiver and returner on the football team because they said he wasn’t big enough to play fullback or linebacker. His beard grew in all patchy so he stayed clean shaven, but it still annoyed him. He was annoyed at a lot of things. But here, at the cabin, hunting, he felt at peace - he was dominant, powerful here - he was a good hunter and the hunt made him feel in control, powerful, and skilled.

He turned onto the gravel drive to the cabin, the car rose and fell with uneven path through the woods, jostling the jar of sauce and box of pasta about in the seat beside him. The cabin was painted a kind of light blue with big wooden side paneling, dug out of a gently sloping mountainside - the woods around were thick, trees of different heights and bushes and vines meshed together like a verdant wall thirty feet behind the rear of the cabin. The land beside the cabin was mostly cleared for about fifty feet and grass grew there, thick with weeds his mother had asked him to clear when he’d told his parents he was coming up here, _alone_. The gravel drive ended in front of the cabin, and by the time he stepped out onto the rocky ground a light drizzle had begun to fall, making the leaves shimmer as the forest whispered with the heavier drops that gathered and trickled down a thousand leaves all at once. He walked up the steps onto the small covered porch on the left side of the cabin, setting his groceries down on the small table whose legs looked like branches, he looked briefly out to the woods, and frowned. There was a small opening or clearing at the edge that led to a long path that took one to the store owners’ home, but now it looked queerly dark in some way, as though the diffuse sunlight was being kept away on purpose.

He pushed the thought away, _stupid - just like earlier today. You’d think you’d never been alone in the woods before._ He fished the keys from his pocket and unlocked the handle, opening the front door into the main living room. The whole cabin was maybe one hundred feet long, most of it was the main sitting room, with its large brick fireplace facing a comfortable sofa in a blue and green pattern that sat below a big picture window that looked out into woods and down the mountain, and one could see the mountain range amidst the trees. There was a big chair next to the sofa, and to his right as he entered was a rustic farm table that had the television on it, though he didn’t usually watch a lot of TV up here. He walked across the living room to the kitchen, a small box of a room with wooden countertops and two windows over a stone sink. The walls were simple stained wood, and the house had a rustic feel he liked - it felt simple, masculine. He grabbed a Steel Reserve beer out of the fridge and went back to the porch, turning on a rusty standing lamp that stood over the big wooden rockers and sat down in the one nearer the light.

His phone said it was 5:13. It was still cool out but pleasant, and the grey clouds were turning a kind of orange over the swaying tree tops as the sun lowered towards the cross-bar two by four railing that ran along a deck on the front of the house. He sipped his beer, and lazily unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out - he enjoyed the thrill of jerking off out in the open, even though it was isolated it felt exciting somehow. He’d changed out of his camouflage when he’d first returned to the cabin, and now he peeled the white tee shirt he’d worn over his head, letting the air run across his bare chest.

He slowly stroked himself, staring down as his cock grew, it was thick and longer then his hand, it had a pink-purple head that glistened with precum. On a perverse impulse he ran his finger through it, and touched it to his lips - it was musty, salty. He flushed with embarrassment even as he swallowed his spit mixed with it - he wasn’t some queer. He’d been amazed at how open the fags were when he’d gotten to college, like they had no shame and they’d even _look_ at guys openly. He kept stroking, the air was still, the sun moving casting a shadow up his abdomen - he’d put on a little weight with all the beer he’d been drinking, but was still in good shape. Suddenly he had that feeling again, like something was watching him from the tree line, tangled and dark with vines, he stared out over the railings, his hand still. Nothing.

He felt angry again at himself, for acting so weak. “Go on and watch fucker” he said aloud to no one. _Maybe that fag Van is spying on me._ He snickered inwardly as he stroked, imagining the youth in the poison ivy with his pants around his ankles, furiously beating off as he watched him. Suddenly he came, “ahhh!” it was almost surprising, it shot in thick ropes up his chest, landing just over his right nipple, dripping viscously down. He was breathing in quick, tight grunts with each spurt as it splashed onto his belly now, he milked it with his fist, rubbing the slick stuff into his cock.

without thinking he repeated his earlier gesture, scooping it up into his mouth, when something in the woods moved. It had been at his peripheral left vision, he swore there was something and he stared across the grass intently, waiting. The sun continued down, the air was cooling, his nipples stood erect, but nothing moved. He pulled his fingers from his mouth and swallowed, then shouted “if you’re watching me faggot why don’t you come lick it up?!” _I’d fucking beat his ass if he tried._

Nothing emerged, and only slowly did he again relax, chiding himself for yet again being jumpy. He stood, and leaving his shirt where he’d discarded he moved to switch on the outside flood lights before he went back into the cabin. Usually he left the heavy wooden door open to see the forest beyond through the screen, but tonight he closed and locked it. As the bolt snapped into place, it occurred to him he’d swallowed his own cum. And he was annoyed.

 

***

 

It sounded like potato chips were being munched nearby, which was hard to square with his dream of a headless deer. Crunch crunch crunch. _Steps._ Taylor bolted upright, adrenaline coursing into his veins. He flicked the light to the right of the bed on, it had a weird switch almost like a turn-key, and he had to do it twice because he turned too far the first time and it went off. His hand fell to the gun that lay there, the heavy 38 revolver, standard police issue, known for its stopping power.

He pushed back the pale pink sheets (he’d been irritated to find those were the only sheets in the cabin for the full bed) and walked to the window. He pulled back the curtain with a quick gesture, looking out the windows that faced the same side of the cabin as the porch he’d sat on earlier, but saw only the stretch of grass illuminated by the floodlights. He stilled himself, focused intently, tried to detect movement in the darkness. There were bears, and raccoons - they’d bought a locking trash bin years ago for that reason, the creatures had ransacked the garbage more than once.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. It was around the side and back. _Too heavy for a raccoon._ His bedroom was to the right of a small landing at the top of two steps that lay between the fireplace and the kitchen. He crossed the landing switching on the light in the bathroom there, casting its dingy white tile in pale fluorescent light - light he knew would spill out the window and Illuminate the dark beyond. He entered the second bedroom flipping the light on the small table near the door, then moved past the bed to the dresser, switching on the light there. The back and far wall both had two windows, that looked out the back of the house, but he’d not turned on the rear floodlights.

He shook a little as he again pulled open these curtains, letting the dresser light out to spear the dark. He was breathing heavily, he held the revolver in a tense sweaty grip, he was  afraid for some unknown reason. The garbage can sat just beneath the window, and was upright and locked. He moved to the next set of windows, pulling back the curtains with one hand, prepared to fire with the other, the hammer cocked on his pistol. But nothing, no bear, no scampering possum, just a hazy darkness that he peered into for long seconds that seemed like minutes but to no avail.

He stepped back, letting his breathing settle before he pulled the curtains back shut, as though not wanting to see what lay beyond. _Stupid._ Why had he been so scared? He’d dealt with this before, noises of animals at night, they were in a fucking forest, after all. He sighed, leaving the bedroom he looked across to his own windows but still nothing there. _Just some animal, why I’m acting like —_ something moved on the front porch in the darkness out the picture window. Taylor froze. He couldn’t  see what was there but he swore something moved in the darkness, off towards the side porch. It seemed large. He suddenly unfroze, running across the hall to the window in his bedroom he stared out with feverish intent where the inky blackness was split by the floodlights, green grass still and quiet in the night. Nothing.

He stared for what felt like a tense hour, though only fifteen minutes past. _Eyes playing tricks on me._ It was probably just his own reflection in the picture window - he hadn’t been looking directly at it, after all. He backed away from the window, pulling closed the curtains, looked down at the pale pink sheets with a grimace. He decided to leave the lights on, but he felt stupid doing so. He turned the radio on, listened to some all night music station - it was country, but he just let it play. Knowing it was a foolish danger, he left the hammer cocked on the 38 as he set it down on the table. Sleep came slowly, fitfully.

 

***

 

**SUNDAY**

 

The next morning he woke before dawn, pulled on his camouflage and loaded his rifle, this time strapping the revolver to his hip, and left the house under darkness. He decided not to drive, but instead track the woods behind the cabin - if he headed away from Van’s place the forest stretched out for some distance uninterrupted by houses and people. It was illegal, but he didn’t really care - nor did many folks living around here. He forced himself onto the path that led to the neighbors far distant cabin - his heart leaping as the first fingers of blue began to grab the pitch dark of the predawn. He kept telling himself there was nothing to fear, nothing _he_ need fear, he was the most powerful force in these woods. At the familiar giant Oak he cut off the rough path and into the thick underbrush, searching for tracks or spoor.

The morning brought only frustration though, as he hardly saw a rabbit or squirrel, much less desirable game. The woods seemed chilly, the light was indirect thin and blue, and it seemed that strange stillness still pervaded the air, though he did not have the same sensation he’d had the previous morning - of something stalking _him_.

He marched back through the woods in disgust as the sun rose high enough to mark mid-morning. As he stepped up on the porch he stopped, sniffed - there was something acrid in the air, he bent his head and sniffed - and as he did he noticed the wood a the base of the railing post was a different color and damp to the touch. He brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed, the odor of urine was unmistakable - he straightened and looked around, the smell lingering - sharp and pungent in his nose.

His blood was once again throbbing in his veins. He strode the length to the small picnic style table with attached benches on the front porch, this was where he’d thought he’d seen something… there was a viscous whitish stuff on the table top, and two deep scratches in the wood - he’d not paid attention the previous day but the splintering suggested they were fresh. He dipped two fingers in the stuff there and brought them to his nose - it was cold, very thick and it smelled musty, almost a hint of ammonia… He flinched, whipped his fingers, rubbing them on the table. It smelled like semen.

 _Fuck, that faggot Van._ Just as he thought it he recognized there was way too much of it, more than any guy he’d ever seen could do. And the piss - it was like something, someone, was marking territory. He’d no idea what kind of animal came buckets on random tables, but he knew it was too much for a man. He scanned the woods, stepping off the opposite side of the porch he walked around the back, leaves crunching noisily beneath his boot, but saw nothing that gave him any clues. Only when he stepped back up onto the side poarch did he notice his shirt - it was wet where he’d discarded it on the concrete, and when he lifted it he saw it was yellow, soaked with piss and tattered and torn.

He was suddenly afraid. This was a signal. It had been watching him, it had seen him jerk off, it marked his shirt and left it for him. He went inside and locked the door, uneasy and less convinced his mind was playing tricks on him after all.

 

 _It._..

 

***

 

He left the house in jeans and another t-shirt, and drove to nearby town 20 minutes away - it was the only place he could go to watch Football and drink without people knowing him and his ID would not be flagged. He drank several beers, but it did little to dissipate his unease, and when went to the urinal to piss it just reminded him of his sopping wet shirt torn to shreds - he felt a little panic rise in his chest.

As he drove back, he decided he’d have to plan, to stop this - it was getting to his head. He pulled several loads of firewood in from where it was stacked to the side of the house and made sure all the external floods were on before he locked the doors, and warmed up some leftover spaghetti. He put the Sunday night game on the TV and left the lights on, stoking the fire, he mostly stared out into the gathering darkness as he absentmindedly stroked the handle of the 38 strapped to his hip. The front was not heavily lit and the night was thickest there, but it lingered quietly, unbroken. When he switched the TV off after the game, he decided to turn off the lights in the house - maybe it would lure whatever was out there in.

It was just as he was about to click the last lamp by door off he heard something, and he backed away leaving it on. There was movement, around the back, the crunching and shifting of dry leaves, and Taylor pulled his gun out and strained to see out the windows on either side of the door - but saw nothing in the midnight gloom. _I should’ve turned the damn light off._ He heard his own breathing, felt every inch of his body - it was quiet out now but he had that sense he was being watched, irrationally he turned to the kitchen but there was nothing there, the door locked tight. The fire, recently stoked, cast a warm light on the room - outside the moon was almost full and the clouds had cleared to let it bathe the table outside in a cool light that caught the sticky mess he’d left there.

He was still slightly turned towards the kitchen when he heard the movement, and the wall by the door suddenly splintered, the door jamb falling away as whatever it was forced the door in with such ferocity the door swung and slammed into the table where the one light he’d left on shook and fell to the floor, the glass bulb snapping as the room was cast into the semidarkness of the fire’s wavering light. In the moment for some reason he thought how it was odd that the door itself didn’t splinter.

In the low, undulating light Taylor only caught flashes, never a full clear picture. It towered over his six feet (well, five eleven), its shoulders were broad as it stepped into the house on long feet - but not feet they had claws, long black cruel things attached to a wide oversized paw, almost like a dog’s that bent backwards. The orange glow glinted off the claws, slender and vicious looking, that curled from its overlong hand, the fingers bent strangely as they grasped the air - like a robot malfunctioning, it seemed perverse in some way. It crossed to him in two long strides, it stooped over as it moved and he almost thought it would get on all fours, it’s back-bent hind legs propelling it forward, he saw teeth like a German Shepard’s and a snout, long - like a wolf’s but too long, horridly large, the firelight glittering in the saliva-damp hair around lips that somehow curled into a grotesque smile.

He’d been so horrified and transfixed his body had frozen, but as it moved towards him his adrenaline surged and he raised the 38 he held but a lanky, powerful arms smacked his hand away as the other sunk a powerful blow into his belly sending Taylor flying onto his back where his head slammed into the brick of the fireplace. He thought it had torn his belly out with this horrible claws, a shot rang out as the gun clattered to the floor, in his mind the image of the remnants of the doe fixed themselves in his head as he heard that voice “ _eviscerated_ ”, and it was like at school when they made announcements but the speaker or mic was too loud, it was painfully loud.

He wasn’t bleeding in his gut though, and it had not yet lunged on him as he’d fantasized. He tried to clear the voice from his head, he opened his eyes but the darkness was moving and so was _it_ \- it was hard to tell what was moving and he realized he wasn’t even holding his own head steady. _Hot._ His head so warm, so close to the smoldering coals where he’d fallen by the fireplace. _Poker!_ His eyes snapped to the heavy iron tool and he quickly reached out, it was easily in reach-

A strange clawed hand fell on his wrist, pinning his hand with its weight, he felt its breath on his cheek as the smell registered. It breath was foul, hot and rank like that muddy sweet smell from the morning in the woods, but more than that it’s whole body - hunched over him now - exuded a powerful must scent, it evoked those moments after practice in the locker room, it was a deep scent and sharp too, penetrating. It had lowered itself down so it pinned his arms down ( _when did it pin my other arm?!_ ) it’s perverse visage hung inches from him - like a wolf’s head but stretched unnaturally, it’s eyes a horrid glowing orange or red, it’s teeth like saws showed clearly in some cruel imitation of a smile that curled up to its large ears that stood erect and pressed back now. It panted over him, grunting a low guttural noise, drool dipped down and Taylor had to turn his head as the hot slick stuff slid over his cheek to keep it from his mouth, and he let out a pitiful noise of disgust.

 _It’s toying with me again._ Like the previous morning, it had been toying with him all along - playing with prey before it killed him. But as he turned his head he saw something that frightened him anew, between its back legs a pink member was extruded, it glowed slickly in the light. He’d seen a dogs cock when his sicko friend Jay had showed him a video in high school of some Spanish chick sucking a dogs dick (he’d decided in that moment Spanish people were all fucked up, and wound up in detention once for saying so. In detention he learned that not all Spanish speaking  people were from Spain, but hadn’t changed his views much). It was like that but bigger, the flesh was mottled pink and red and black, it was thicker than his own but ended in a narrower flattened tip that dripped now a viscous stuff that he knew was what he’d seen on the porch that morning. He was staring at it as though entranced, and though he said to himself _fuck that’s disgusting_ he never took his eyes off it, for the thing's maw was close to his face now and he was too frightened to look.

Taylor let out an angry, guttural noise that grew louder slowly into a yell that filled the small cabin, and grew louder still as the tip of the creature's cock erupted and a powerful stream of warm piss spilled onto his legs legs in a hot rain that quickly soaked his thick denim. It was a noise of fury, fury denied as the horrible creature covered him in its disgusting eruption of urine, it was the sound of his desperate need to be a man who would sooner die rather than let this happen but could not. He struggled with all his might, with his arms he moved and twisted and strained to the point he thought he’d break something, but the flow just continued. It covered his legs, hot and a pungent, powerful odor met him as it soaked into his jeans, then the creature arched its back and the powerful stream arced up over his torso, soaking his T-shirt and washing over his abdomen and chest as the smell became overpowering. It was so hot, filthy, it straightened it’s powerful arms changing the angle so it splashed over his face, he pressed his lips together but had slipped into his mouth, salty and offensive it was so intensely bitter he wanted to vomit and scream in fury but he could only press his lips ever tighter and shut his eyes as its urine soaked his hair.

It wasn’t that he was not afraid. The beast was sharp, heavy, muscular, and it had shown itself to be smart - but somehow every day of his struggle, his concerns over others seeing inside, his insecurity, his impossible pursuit of being a real man, spilled out as he turned and looked into its hellish eyes (its urine blurring his vision) he said in a steely tone “FUCK YOU. Just fucking kill m—” it cut him off with a quick movement of its powerful neck, its tongue flooded his mouth and a vile smell spilled over his nostrils and he was too shocked to react as it lapped its tongue out into his mouth, it passed rough and hot over his lips falling into his speaking mouth like a flood cascading down a mountainside and filling a gorge. There it twirled and lapped, its vile teeth split wide on either side of his own mouth like a bear trap, and as Taylor responded by trying to bite its tongue it clenched, slightly pressing its teeth into his cheeks.

Taylor relented, letting his teeth leave their grip on its tongue (even at this his whole being surged with petulant anger at his own weakness) and the thing pushed its tongue to the back of his throat before pulling up and dragging it over his face, he could feel the bumps on the muscular flesh as it pulled back from his face and its jaws closed into a snarling tight-lipped... _smile_. It _was_ smiling, that’s all he could think, and it wasn’t just its face - its whole body seemed to grin at him... _the feel of winning._

He knew it, that feeling when he surely bagged a kill, the moment before when his whole body was alive with his... _dominance._ That’s what he’d come here to feel. He’d hated college. He’d gone in so sure he’d be able to set his own tone, get away from the shit in North Carolina and be his own man. But the place had been so different. He’d never made the football team when we tried to walk-on (too small, the fuckers had said), and there were dykes and faggots everywhere - he’d even been hit on by one and had to take “sensitivity” training when he’d told the fag to fuck off. And it didn’t seem to matter that he was a great hunter, that he had a thick dick. It just didn’t matter, and even his dad didn’t seem to care - same old shit about doing the work. All he’d wanted to do was get away, feel alive, feel that feeling…the moment where his skill, his stealth, his body - all of it led to his final moment of dominance over the twitching body of a deer, or better…

 _It’ll kill me. All of this will be over_. He knew he should be irritated, angry at himself, his weakness. _Is that what the fucking stupid deer think before I nail them?_ But even in his own head his machismo felt useless and stupid - like it was written for a bad show on TV. He felt warm, his head hurt and his vision swam, the air from the door was chilling him uncomfortably as the piss cooled all over his flesh and goose bumps covered him. But where was his fear, anger, indignance? _It’ll just kill me, I can’t win this._ His body went slack, but it was more than just that - it was like his years long struggle to prove himself _to himself_ fled him, it was like his whole being sighed as the realization of his own imminent demise settle inside his skull and slowly unwound a decade of tense wires around his spine. The thing was so powerful and once it tired of play it would kill him, there would be pain as its claws sank in and he was afraid of that, terrified, thought he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it.

But it never sank those sickle-like claws into him. The darkness was dense out here in the woods, though the little light from Burrow had grown over the years even as the lights from the nearby undergarment factory dimmed, the sky was still so clear at night and the dark beneath the stars thick and persistent. It made Taylor’s perception spasmodic, like the light of a twirling, dying flashlight lit his vision.

It lifted him, pulling him up with its massive fingers gripping his head and he thought maybe it would tear it off at the neck - but it didn’t, and he realized he’d wanted it to. It was painful but more than that the pressure was incredible, it’s physical power was so violently present in the warm touch of the thing’s flesh, soft and almost papery on the palms of its hands. It pressed on the sides of his head, and he knew it could simply crush his head if it wanted, yet it lifted him, and instinctively he grabbed it’s wrists, they felt boney, and the hair thick, wiry like pubic hairs (though his own pubic hair was soft and blond, and this had always irritated him). Something slimy rubbed over his face...but the beast stood over him, it couldn’t be the tongue, and it was too smooth for that besides.

 _Fuck, no. Never._ He looked up at it, staring down at him, its slimy monstrous cock pressing against his skin, it was sticky and hot, the skin pink and red marked here and there with mottled spots of black. He looked up with indignant anger in his eyes, _You’ll have to kill me,_ he thought. _Never._ In the dark and flickering light he saw its eyes narrow, its big broad shoulders hunched a bit ( _it’s so muscular_ ), it was moving its hips (he couldn’t see from the way it held his head) and pressing its cock against his lips. It smelled, that raw musky scent mixed with a coppery sharpness, it was hard to comprehend what was happening - he thought it was going to skewer him with its claws but it had somehow avoided ever breaking his skin even when it had held his head in its jaws.

It’s eyes narrowed and its face contorted, he saw something there he thought he recognized - it seemed like rage ( _it’s just a fucking animal_ ) but he knew better than that. It gripped his neck with one hand and Taylor instinctively grabbed the wrist with both hands - he thought about reaching out to try and kick or punch, but he was on his knees, and its arms were long - even beneath the hair or fur (he’d never known the difference) he could see the veins pulsing in its muscles. It brought its free hand around, disturbingly long fingers playing their claws beneath his chin, running them against the soft flesh left exposed by its grip, pressed tight against his Adam’s apple. It pressed one claw on that spot, the bulge in his throat, and _just_ pressed hard enough to _scratch_ the skin there - Taylor yelped, surprised to hear the noise from his own throat.

More surprising was the flood of terror that came to him, suddenly - as though he’d just awakened, it was like a pit opened in his belly and he felt his damp jeans flooded with his own piss as it spilled down his leg. He didn’t want the pain, he didn’t want it - he was afraid of it, it would be horrible, unimaginable. His mind was a blind panic as the beast’s free hand curled its long, powerful fingers around his jaw and gently pulled it open, he opened it freely, anything to delay the pain. His heart pumped like he’d had four cups of coffee, it was almost painfully thumping in his chest, and he was sweating profusely despite the cool air.

The nasty, pulsating cock slipped over his lips. He saw it had a swollen bulge ( _Jay called it a “knot”_ ) that had formed near the base, as thick as a man’s fist it seemed. The clarity of that memory of Jay, his revulsion at that woman and her actions, the sight of the swollen knot of flesh in its revoltingly slick cock all pulled one last gasp of his manhood from his muddled mind ( _I’ll never be like that nasty bitch_ ) and he pressed his teeth into the disgusting thing in his mouth. It growled, and he saw something glint from the corner of his eye and its claws were pressed now where it held his mouth, pressing their sharpened tips into the flesh of his cheeks - and he was afraid. It’s growl had been a snarl - a terse noise, that now dwindled as he pulled his teeth off its cock, it turned to a rumble in its broad chest, which he noted had less hair than the rest of it.

It was a noise that he understood was a kind of assent. The skin of its member pressed against his tongue, it was warm and tender, he felt the throbbing veins that leapt with its blood and arousal. It’s smell filled his nose, like mounds of dirt and grass, and something more pungent, like when steel wool was left in water too long and started to rust and fall apart. It was slick, something covered it in a layer that felt like the sticky lube he used to jerk off, it had a strange taste, sort of deeply salty – not like table salt but the salt of sweat-soaked skin, there was a bitterness that coated his tongue and seemed to soak in there. There was the odor of piss too. He closed his eyes and felt tears running down his cheeks, and he sensed the claws were no longer pressing against his skin.

He held himself up on its wrists as it took his head in both its hands, its long thumbs long enough to wrap all the way across his forehead - its grip was powerful but strangely gentle, as though it was holding a grape between its thumb and forefinger. It slowly pushed its filthy shaft into his mouth, and Taylor worried he’d scrape it with his teeth (those claws were right there) and he covered his lower teeth with his tongue and tried to cover the top teeth with his lip. It pressed against the back of his throat, its girth filled his mouth and he tried not to gag as the slimy pulsating flesh seemed to press against every inch of the inside of his mouth.

It’s low, rumbling growl rose to a sharp snarl, and he opened his eyes to look blurrily into its glowing orange stare - this seemed to appease it as it rumbled now with that contented noise. It’s eyes were so intense, it slowly pulled its cock out, then thrust back in, gently fucking its swollen cock into his mouth - those eyes held him, he saw its victory, its power, it was showing him it could do what it wanted and he’d take it. It’s eyes were so powerful, condescending, cool despite their fiery glow. It pressed its slippery cock against the back of his throat and pushed, he gagged and shook, his body reacting to the pressure but it somehow pushed down his throat. Tears flowed from the convulsive reaction, he tried to keep down the bile as it pressed the fat wadded knot against his nostrils and lips. He couldn’t breath, his eyes were panicked, he looked at it, tried to show he was struggling to breath - but he knew it understood that already.

At last the beast pulled back, he gasped for breath, snot and tears ran freely but he just gulped air into his lungs as its cock lay on his tongue, slimier than before somehow. Slowly it pressed back in, all the way down, and this time he was more successful controlling his gag reflex (he’d always wondered how those bitches in hardcore online videos did that), gripping tightly to its wrists. The vivid flash of his memory of that online porn somehow made him realize he had an erection, his cock strained against his piss-soaked jeans. _What the fuck?_ Maybe it was death, the end of his life so near at hand - some people got off on shit like that he’d heard - maybe he was like that.

It started pumping more now, humping into his face flexing its muscular buttocks - he held its wrists as it gripped his head - they looked at each other, Taylor’s eyes only closing as he gagged and choked. It was no longer a reaction of revulsion but a physical reaction he tried to control - he watched its muscular form, rippling in the dwindling orange glow of the fire (mostly coals now) its abdomen flexing, its arms holding him up easily (his knees were actually off the floor). It’s slick hard cock pushed in and out, sliding over his lips, each thrust pushed down his throat and pressed the knot into his face - it pushed tight against his lips, pressing them against his teeth as it squashed his nose. It would not fit past his lips and the beast didn’t seem to care.

“That’s its knot - its fucking filled with cum dude. That’s it fucking nut!” He could see the dingy basement room so clearly, and hear Jay’s excited voice. As the beast began to rhythmically pound it’s bulging knot into his face, the hot slimy flesh smashing against his nose as its cock speared his throat - the memory of that afternoon came back with startling clarity. Jay was in the gray office chair with that uncomfortable fabric, and he was sitting on the edge of a wooden seat, uncomfortable but mostly because of the seat. He could see the tent in Jay’s shorts, those loose kind of basketball short he always wore - these were white ones and he could see the erection and felt his own. Where the tip pressed against the shorts it there was a damp spot. He’d swallowed, so intensely he’d wanted to reach out and touch his friend’s cock - no, more than that he’d wanted to lick it that wet spot, feel it in his mouth. He’d blushed furiously - “what the fuck dude” he’d stood up, trying to hide his erection, the scene on the screen and the closeness of his friend’s body made him feel flushed and warm all over. He’d left, wanting so bad to see his friend jerk off. He remembered his anger and confusion. _I can’t be a fucking faggot._

It was as though that one moment, he’d pushed deep down, had led to everything he was - to this moment, that this beast was his own creation. The thought was so clear and yet it made no sense to him. He was gagging with every thrust now and it was pumping hard, fucking his face like some bitch’s pussy - he was having a hard time breathing, and his body spasmed as it slammed its knot into his face as it’s thick slick shaft plunged down his throat. It held his eyes, grumbling in a low steady noise that seemed to fill the cabin along with his spasmodic gagging noises. At last it pulled him tight and held him and made an awful, terrible howling noise  - its head thrust back - he couldn’t breathe, it filled his throat and its knot ground into his nose - something appeared the edge of his vision like camera flashes as it held him. His last sensation was of its filthy cum flowing, a steady pulse pushing down his throat, the thing’s draining knot pressed to his nostrils as it stared down at him again, the slick swollen throbbing flesh mashed against his lips and nose as it pumped its contents down into him. And there was something strange in its orangish red eyes. Like contentment. He rolled his eyes to see the moon lurking outside the big window where he saw the translucent reflection of the hulking creature that humped itself into his helpless face. The dark beneath the stars crept in at last, his hands fell away and his consciousness fled, desperately, it seemed.

 

 


	2. Shattering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor resolves to confront the monster that has left him shattered, and destroy it. Great idea.

**MONDAY**

 

Taylor awoke in the cold bluish light of the pre-dawn, his eyes slowly taking in the picture window which carried a clear sky in its frame. The light hurt his head, and all over in strange places he ached, but he was only dimly aware of these spots, like when people would raise their voices slowly when he wasn’t paying attention to them. He was on his right side with his back to the fireplace in the living room, and he felt damp - particularly on his right - it was chilly in the morning air. _Air? Breeze…_ the door was ajar. No, it had been thrust open, ripped violently by…

 _Jesus, I’m alive._ The thought came to him with the annoyance he’d gotten used to - he’d assumed he'd die at the hands of... _IT._ He’d seen werewolf movies, he knew what he saw - but that was ridiculous. _Insane._ He hadn’t moved, and now as he lay on his side he looked slowly down to the wrist of his right hand, and saw it was red with bruising - he lifted his head to stare at it, but his neck hurt, so he stopped and lay his head back down on the sticky floor.

 _Cum._ Or piss. He suddenly moved like he was possessed, his body ignoring the pains and aches that seared him in places as he scrambled up from the tainted wood and brick beneath him. He was ripe, rank, covered - sticky stuff covered his face and body, his clothes stiff in places, damp in others - he smelled of that pungent, intense odor of urine mixed with a musty sweetish smell…

He tried to make himself vomit, sticking fingers down his throat, but merely came up with dry heaving and tears started to flow, making him only more enraged. A sudden gust through the door stirred that fear in him, and he paused in his inchoate anger to stare at the rays of light shining through the naked portal. Without thinking he stumbled to the doorway, shoving the heavy, sturdy wood back into place - and finding the doorjamb broken ( _of course_ ) he pressed the heavy chair beneath the knob, pushing with every ounce of strength to push it tight. 

He stumbled again as he backed away, looking at his shoddy work and again was disgusted even as he felt his own feet tread on the sticky wood and pull up like the floor of a movie theater. Somewhere between the fireplace and the stairs leading up to the washroom he stripped the stiff and sticky clothing from his body, and ultimately had to sit in the tub (which he hated but he felt too tired) and let the scalding water rush over him, not bothering with the curtain. 

He looked past the askew bathroom door to the wall behind the other chair to where he saw the 38 lay. He imagined putting it between his teeth. Pulling the trigger. And his body lying amidst the mess of cum and piss, looking weak - violated. He sobbed, shouted _fuck_ loudly, sobbed more.

 

_I’ll kill it._

 

It was the only option he really had left. He’d die, maybe, but he’d face it - destroy it - kill the thing that had taken everything. It made no sense, of course, he knew that on some level - but he couldn’t see any way out of this, it had taken him, used him - and…

He couldn’t use the word. He knew it, but his mind refused to form it. The water was too hot. He turned it down, pulled the soap from the dish and began to caress the suds into his stained flesh which he suddenly hated. He knew it made no sense, he should call the cops ( _they’d smell it all - and wouldn't believe me_ ) or his parents…something terrible had come from the woods, and yet still Taylor could only see this as a threat to himself. To his manhood. This was his challenge. He’d come here alone, _he_ needed to end this.

He never reflected on the madness of his thoughts. He wasn’t that kind of guy. The woods had sent this thing to him, and he knew more with every moment that he’d have to send it back. _Fucking dead._ He smiled beneath his tears, his thoughts felt like his own again, strong and forceful.

 

***

 

He’d need to be awake, so he’d need food. So despite the soreness that lingered in his wrists and neck, and the dark bruise next to his left eye, he ventured back to Burrow to get the only thing he could think of, a frozen pizza.

Van was there when he put it down on the counter, and asked about his eye. “Lose a fight with a deer?” He’d asked, and Taylor thought _what a stupid fucking faggot thing to say._ He’d never lost a fight with anything ( _until last night_ ). He flushed at the thought, the other was grinning, and suddenly that smile flashed a forgotten memory into Taylor’s vision, that curved narrow jaw and its teeth like yellowed ivory mountain ranges in its slimy pink maw. He felt its breath and tongue, pressing in. He grabbed the pizza and walked out, leaving cash on the counter. He swore he heard laughter behind him, those eyes stuck in his head like lanterns, his cock pressed at his boxers and he didn’t understand.

He was conflicted on cleaning the mess, he’d never mopped or anything, and so he tried to use paper towels ( _I should’ve bought more of those_ ) and Windex to clean the slickness from the floor, without much success - and he felt like an ass on his hands and knees. Eventually he found a bag of rags made of old clothes and that did a little better.

 He then tried to come up with a plan. He checked his ammunition, and for the rifle and revolver alike he was fine. He thought of hunting it, but knew it had the advantage in the woods, or guessed it did - wolves had good hearing and vision, he’d remembered somehow, and he’d be at a disadvantage, even with the moon full and the sky clear. He shuddered all the way to his spine, as he thought of meeting it in the dark woods, alone - it could so easily take him. _Take me?_ The thought seemed foreign, as though some narrator had put it in his head. He was shaking. It was past midday, the cabin smelled like Windex and piss, and the night was coming. He was afraid, and his fear annoyed him. It would come back, he knew in his core, and he'd be waiting.

 He kept his pistol tucked into his belt along with a hunting knife, at times feeling the desire to hold it as he stared out the great, glass expanse to the trees beyond, whose leaves thundered their argument in the wind as it blew. Why didn’t it kill him? What _was_ it? But these were thoughts he knew he’d need to keep at bay - he’d never thought about things too much. It was here, he was here, it hadn’t killed him - it had _taken_ him, and he’d send it back to whatever hell it had galloped up from.

Before the sun started waning he gathered firewood in the house from where it was stacked by the cabin side, piling it by the fireplace and then more again against the door. He lodged a firm two by four beneath the handle, and then stacked wood as much as possible both against the door and the two by four to bolster it. Even though the logs were heavy it felt flimsy, and even as he worked he looked over his shoulder at the big, glass sheet of a window behind him, and every time he did his heart beat strongly, as though it would appear, the vicious snout and its hulking form. 

As the sun set he strapped the rifle across his back, cracked a beer and cooked the pizza, burning it a little (of course, those weren’t the kinds of things that concerned guys like him). He lit a roaring fire in the fireplace, as though it protected him from something ( _it’s not fucking Santa Claus)_. He tried to distract himself with television as the darkness lengthened,but he kept staring at the big picture window with dread. It was a serious problem. _I need to keep it in front of me._ He’d opened a second beer, _why not before I fucking die_? The light was dwindling, then gone, and each second the sky dimmed his blood thrummed in his veins, like it sang to the battle approaching.

 After an hour of darkness, Taylor felt uneasy, his stomach turned with its contents, and the night was too still - clouds again covered the sky beyond the window, but the trees had fallen silent. Somewhere a good distance away, a creature howled at the moon. He almost panicked then, ran to his car: it was a monster, this was a stupid plan. _It’s too late, it’s probably already here._ The house was dark but for the fire - _why let the thing have a better view?_ he’d thought to himself. After stoking the fire and placing more wood, he decided he’d go to the bedroom, and crouched there in the corner with his back to the closet (checking it first, and finding it empty) - from here he could look out and see it wherever it came from. He never doubted it would return. To his right there was an old wingback chair, to his left a small chest of drawers with a mirror on top, and he looked directly at the bed and the windows beyond, but there was little light to illuminate anything beyond. Where ever it came from, he’d have first shot. He’d end it.

 He waited, crouched – shifting position as his legs cramped, moving the 38 into his sock as it was uncomfortable in his waistband when he crouched, he watched the moonlight filtered through the clouds to illuminate the curtains he’d pulled closed for fear of seeing its horrid face staring back. He’d almost started to drift off when a **_thump_** fell on the wall opposite beneath the window. The adrenaline was in him instantly, and the fear. He’d not thought he could be afraid anymore, but he was terrified, and his bladder seemed ready to burst. **_THUMP_**. It was right on the wall next to him - outside, like a bird smashing into the wall. **_Thump_** more distant, nearer the kitchen now - it was toying with him again. _Fuck it. I’m not going anywhere._ He tightened his grip and set his mouth in a grim line, as he thought he should.

 He waited for the crash of the big window but it never came. He thought he heard a quiet crash, like a glass thrown against an outside wall, but couldn’t be sure - his blood was again pounding in his head. So he was all the more startled when the doorknob to his room rattled, just a little, then turned. He never thought it would just open the door. _Maybe there’s just a fucking squatter?_ His mind irrationally jumped to this idea - but the great hand and forearm covered in dense, angry hair subdued such stupidity, focused his mind. IT was here.

 He had already positioned the rifle and aimed, it pushed in, and he saw in outline it’s muscular, fur covered body fill his vision, silhouetted by the flickering light of the distant fire. It’s eyes moved and swept and found him, he fired, there was a blinding flash - his hands were sweaty as he shifted and he thought he hit its heart or shoulder. And the shot brought a satisfying snarl, primordial and angry, breathy and formless almost. He smiled but stopped - it was moving quick, and he meant to shoot it again but it was bent down and then leaping at him, the shot passed through empty air as its form ducked beneath the gun barrel and it was on him and he knew it brought death.

 

But it didn’t.

 

A great, furred paw gripped his rifle hand, instrument and hand alike curled in its extraordinary fingers, it pulled him bodily from his crouch. Taylor kept his head, for once, and despite his terror at its overwhelming strength, and pulled out the knife he’d tucked in his belt and stabbed at its gut, but as he was moving he only managed to graze its side ( _fuck_ ), and it growled at him, and he sensed somehow anger, frustration, something _more_ than just a beast defending itself. It slapped the knife from his hand and then slapped his face, hard, scattering his thoughts before it tossed him onto the bed where he fell facedown, deprived of his rifle which he heard clatter to the floor.

 His head was spinning. It really hadn’t been right all day - he remembered the big hits he’d taken in high school playing football, it always took a little while to get right, and he recognized the signs - even though they pissed him off. Now his head was reeling again, the darkness thickened like a fist ( _is it grabbing me_?!) in the curtain-drawn room - it was on him, the mattress around him sagged beneath its weight but somehow it did not touch him.

 Then he felt it, the cold claws on his flesh beneath his shirt attached to the warm, papery skin of its fingers where the fur thinned. It’s warmth was all around him, that ruddy odor like copper left in dirt for years, the scent rolled down on him like waves flooding his dispersed senses. It smelled so warm, masculine, musty - he breathed deep. He was going to die - its claws were on him, _in him_. But ...they weren’t, they pulled his shirt and it sounded like a silly cartoon noise of when someone tore their boxers, but he felt the fabric on his chest tighten and then relax as his back was exposed to the air and his tattered shirt fell away. 

_I’ll kill it._

 He turned, despite a near paralyzing fear, a fear that pulled his throbbing veins apart, he rolled on his back and tried to punch and beat it, but it moved - just a little - to easily avoid him and its claws were now at his waistband. Taylor froze.

 It was like a repeat of the last night - it was hovering over him on all fours, panting from its hideous distended jaws, dripping saliva down onto him, now it's horrible gnarled hand had curled its claws beneath the waist of his jeans, the smooth, cool top of those claws ( _like polished marble_ ) resting above his groin. It pulled, the fabric fell to pieces, and it pulled more and they fell to fewer pieces - but he couldn’t stop looking at its orange eyes and it never stopped holding him in its gaze.

 The 38 was stuck in his shoe, but he was frozen. Afraid, yes, his heart could have left his body. But something was happening, something he didn’t really understand. It did not hold him down, but Taylor did not move - he lay here with his arms askew beneath its gaze and he looked back. _What is it?_ There was something in its eyes, the way it looked at him. _Hungry._ He shuddered, his whole body quivering in a cool stream of air from somewhere, it growled and he shivered hard, violently beneath its intensly close presence, it’s jaws so near to him, split by its dripping tongue and animated by a heavy panting, a heaving breath that mirrored his own desperate exhalations. A knee pressed against his thigh and he unthinkingly pressed his thigh into its warmth.

 “Just...kill me...just get it over with” his voice was quiet, weak, it sounded pathetic. He was furious, sad, _beaten._ But the wolf didn’t comply. It stared down at him, hunched on all fours like a true wolf, it’s body exuded primordial power. He was too terrified to move. It was terrible, its eyes glowed, its hand moved towards his head, his eyes fixated on the terrible claws as they closed on him, so fixated that he let out a little gasp when it began to urinate. The front of his pants had been ripped away and the stream fell right on his exposed thighs and cock which he realized was hard. _I’ve been hard all night._ It was happening all over again, the horrible humiliation of being marked by this beast, but Taylor’s dignity could only muster tears that dropped slowly from the corners of his eyes. Those tears fell into the piss that gathered, covering him as it splattered over his chest and abdomen, soaking into the sheets and puddling around him - an irrational thought slipped into his head, _thank goodness for that waterproof mattress protector._ He laughed aloud at the thought, and the noise startled him. _It’ll catch my blood, too._

 At some point it stopped pissing, he wasn’t really sure, it was just hot and wet all over but the air was quickly cooling him, his arms and legs cascaded with goosebumps. Something had broken in him, his terror had become so intense that it had snapped, and the pit of fear that had filled his belly like electric ice melted, warmed. He just lay there slack, as it leaned down and licked methodical and slow up along his face, its tongue was long, it wriggled around like a tentacle, rough and hot as it slid over his lips, leaving the powerful odor its breath beneath his nose.

 There was so little light, but the beast could apparently see well enough. It leaned back, its preternatural hands (somehow gently) encircling his ankles, and under the cover of midnight gloom it pulled his legs up, his pale backside rising to meet its lowering snout, his head shifting to soak in piss pooled around him. The boy’s face had been slack, his eyes open and unseeing - he’d been somewhere else, thinking about the polished marble lion his mother had bought, it was an intense jade green and almost a foot high, she was so proud of it. But he was ripped from his reverie when its tongue lapped out over his balls, down over the ridge of flesh that led to his ass. “Ahhhh!” It was an involuntary noise, it tickled and was warm and wet. Then it lapped out over his asshole, and he moaned, but it wasn’t a noise he recognized himself as making. It was almost a high pitched whine, he’d never felt anything like this and he shook all over, his body responding without his mind catching up, his brain still scattered like a puzzle upended, the pieces weren’t fitting back together and some were missing.

 His legs were held up and wide as it dipped its snout down, (he could really only see its eyes, staring at him) its tongue was roughly textured, but the texture dragged over his hole thick with its saliva, playing and teasing the sensitive flesh there. His sphincter spasmed and pulsed at the ministrations and he heard his voice moaning as he stared at it, it’s eyes – the moonlight slipping beneath fluttering curtains caught its shining tongue. He saw the deep red muscle, it was moving back, his breath caught in anticipation. It stopped, staring. The air was thick with the rank smell of piss, that cool stream of air split the air between them where a musky warmth had settled between its underbelly and his back. There was nothing rational in his head, no shiver of his masculine pride slipped through the weird mixture of air around them, it was thick and heavy and it was getting to his head.

 The beast dragged the smoother underside of its tongue over his hole, and received no less a reaction as Taylor exhaled and moaned, releasing a tension he’d been unaware he was holding in, his moan breathy and filled with undeniable arousal. _What’s happening to me?_

 The thought was so clear - almost like it wasn’t his thought at all, but someone else’s outside him, watching with detached interest. It quickly was shaken from his head as the beast whipped his leg around (“aaagh!”) and flopped him on his belly, face down in the piss soaked sheets. He felt it grab the back of his head and force it into the soaking filth, the flat sides of those cool claws resting on the side of his temple, and then it was plunging its tongue into his upturned ass. It wasn’t just licking, it was slipping into him, all hot and rough and with an animal ferocity. He could feel its primordial desire - it was like they were in a kitchen thick with the smell of supper. He moaned loudly, deeply, and some piss got in his mouth and it was aggressively bitter but he didn’t care. It was something he’d never felt, the hot slick muscle pushed inside him, its texture pulling at every nerve in his asshole that was stretching in a way it hadn’t before. It was strange, uncomfortable like there was something that needed to get out, but pleasurable too as it tickled and stimulated his sphincter, and yet painful as the muscles stretched around the thickening girth of its tongue.

 His voice was high and that whine was back in his throat, the mixture of intense feelings obliterated conscious reflection, he was just feeling and the feeling bathed his whole writhing body like the cascading stream of warm urine had moments earlier. It was growling in a low, constant rumble as it assaulted his hole, kind of like it was purring - it thrust its tongue deeper, wiggled in him, pulled out to lick and lap all over his ass (it felt so incredible as it dragged over his cheeks that Taylor sort of giggled) before plunging in anew.

 He thought he might pass out. It weight was pushed down around him and shoving his head forcefully down - something in him liked that feeling of it holding him in place. Something in him liked everything it had done to him, and he was dimly aware his cock was leaking a steady stream of thick precum into the defiled sheets. There was just too much to process, some horrible, fictional thing had stolen into the cabin, cast his ambush plans aside like they were nothing and now he writhed on the end of its tongue, feverishly slathering his asshole. So he stopped trying to think and just _felt_. And it felt amazing.

 Only when it shifted its body did he realize he’d been longing for it to. That prehensile tongue licked up his back, its big warm hands covered his and suddenly it was all around him, its strangely jointed arms (its wrists bent at odd angles it seemed), their muscles pulsing beneath a dense layer of course black hair, pressed in against Taylor’s shoulders. The monstrous broad chest, its flesh dark and covered in softer sparse hair and stretched taut over broad pectoral muscles, pressed down against his shoulder blades – the radiant heat of its body cutting sharply through the sullen chill of the piss-wet sheets and October air. It’s sheer power was all around him as though he were wrapped in a warm, heavy blanket that at any moment could constrict and crush him within it.  

 When it had let go the back of his head he’d turned his head and rested his cheek in stinking soaked sheets, and despite just a slim blade of moonlight disrupting the blackness of the bedroom he still took in the glint of light over its teeth, its lips dripping wet and curled back over the beast’s incredible, terrifying jaws, it’s unbelievable tongue lolling out uncontrolled now. He could see behind him the things’ pinkish-red cock, the narrow, dripping tip quickly widened like a flat trowel bulging out into a mottled slimy fat shaft – he’d pulled up fat cucumbers in his fathers garden and these came to mind as his eyes fixated on its shining slick dick. _Where’s the knot?_ The clear, simple thought woke some part of his mind that had been submerged beneath whatever heat filled the air like a sultry fog, and it was as though he looked into a mirror–or through a window–at his pale, lithe body trapped beneath its muscular ferocious form whose edges bled into the surrounding darkness, its horrid animal cock rubbing its slimy heat on his thigh.

 It was terrifying and disgusting – his mind flashed to that old porno in his friend’s basement, that weird video of that nasty slut sucking a dogs’ cock in some shitty country – _look at me, I’m no better than that slut, that nasty fucking bitch_. The word hit him like a hard slap in the face, and he felt something so intense in his chest – right where his ribcage dipped between his pectorals – like a swirling black hole charged with lightening, a gyre of excitable energy pulsing in his core and shivering out through his extremities. It was shameful, wrong – this was not something a real man would do – but he was so excited, enthralled, he felt so good – and the feelings of humiliation and pleasure twirled in a confusing, burbling mass inside him. _Bitch_. He held the word in his head, closed his eyes and let it echo in his foggy brain, building up with each reverberation like a swollen river sloshing up against a straining dam. He exhaled. In his mind, he let go and the dam shuddered before collapsing as the raging waters ripped through him – his whole body trembled with disgraceful, unbearable need. He moaned aloud and the sound was a primal noise, filled with unrepentant desire.

 He pushed up and pressed himself back into the wolf’s broad, heaving chest, warm and strong against his shoulders, he arched his back, spread his knees slightly and pushed back to feel its slick shaft–it was hotter than he’d thought–slide over his ass. He moaned again ( _like a bitch_ ) an inchoate, eager noise that was met by rumbling growl that thrummed against his back. He didn’t think, didn’t care anymore – he just wanted it, _needed it_. He wiggled, shifted his back until its tip pressed against his drool-dripping hole, he let out a little high-pitched “ah!” as the tip pushed in, and though the beast was still he could feel its raw sexual desire like pulsing cloud of sound thrumming in his ears.

 He rocked back slightly, and though it had stretched him with its tongue his sphincter complained with a dull signal of pain, and Taylor’s little noises turned into a sort of needy humming in his chest. It was hot – like it had just come from an oven – and the heat and slickness was a strange combination, he pushed back and the dull pain stayed but beneath it there was a tingling that was connected as though by wire to that swirling excitement in his chest. The monster pushed, gently for its big body, but it was forceful and it hurt but tingled too and Taylor just let out an “unnnnngggghhhh” – it was like those cramps during hot summer games, and he remembered the weird pleasure when trainers had stretched those stiffened muscles. His asshole felt like that way, a tight muscle slowly stretching over its oven-hot slick shaft head – then it pulled back out and he felt warm, viscous stuff drip down on his hole, sliding like warm syrup down to coat his balls. He pushed himself back again, and felt its slip in and stretch him anew, its thick precum wetting his sphincter as it spread around the weird head of its cock – with little high-pitched needy exhalations he humped himself back onto it with little thrusts of his hips, taking a little more with each movement, the dull ache dimming as his sensitive muscle thrummed over its monstrous flesh.

 Taylor felt the tip slide fully in, “hah” he made a small, breathy noise of satisfaction – _it’s in me_ – and let his head droop down on his neck. He was sweating despite the cool air, it gathered on his forehead and trickled down between his eyes to gather at the tip of his nose where it slowly dripped down to join the urine in soaking the bedding. The wolf’s arms were moving, wrapping around his torso, its own torso unnaturally long and incredibly muscular straightened as it leaned up and back on its knees, raising the sweaty damp teen with it. It was just on its knees now, leaning back with the pale boy’s back pressed to its chest – it’s hands moved over his heaving chest as it pulled his body against it in something like a caress. Taylor moaned, grabbing it’s thick biceps to steady himself – it started to hump its monstrous cock into him- it was so hot and slick and the stretching was intense, his hole sang songs of joy and pain as it slid deeper, gravity doing the work as much as the monster’s thrusts.

 Taylor was overwhelmed at the sensations – it was like his whole body was wrapped inside its bestial strength, his feet were on the bed but dangled there as it began to fuck him – each thrust stretched his hole and he moaned and groaned all at once. The bestial cock was thick, it bulged out roundly from the tip into a hefty, veiny pulsing worm that was eager to get deeper, and he wanted it too – but it every thrust brought new pain as his hole that had never been violated tried to accommodate the filthy, animal member shoving itself into him. The monster kept pushing up, thrusting its hips and making his whole body jump in its arms as it pushed in deeper, Taylor groaned but wasn’t sure if he was in pain or not – it was incredibly intense, and only made more so by the firey heat of the alien shaft.

  _It’s fucking me_. _I’m being fucked_. He squeezed his asshole tight and it was electric, pleasure overwhelmed the soreness of stretching and rolled up his back – he felt his head fall back against its shoulder. Its hairy thighs flexed against his smooth pale skin as it thrust deeper – and its heat pressed against something in him, something right there between his ass and his cock (which had been straining and dripping but he’d somehow forgotten about it) – and he gasped a little noise of pleasure. It was like nothing he’d ever felt – his asshole had started to feel incredible but this was different, an intense sensation of pressure but wonderful, his jaw dropped as it fucked itself deeper again, pressing that spot and now every thrust he couldn’t help but let noises of pleasure fill their space as it panted and growled softly in his ear.

 It started fucking him hard. It’s whole body, a mass of lean muscles, seemed to curl around him and thrust ferociously into his ass – with every pump its burning hot cock slid deeper and wider – its shaft bulged out and narrowed a little like a squat, fat cucumber, and every time his hole stretched around it he moaned ecstatically as its pulsing veins danced beneath his eager straining muscle, and that fat center pressed into him rubbing that incredible spot inside. His head was lolling about on the wolf’s shoulder, his mouth hung open in dumb pleasure as his mind lost any rational coherence beyond the pleasure that wracked his body and overloaded his sensations. From the corner of his eye, he saw the mirror that stood on the dresser at the foot of the bed in the cramped little room, and his eyes had adjusted enough to see it’s monstrous body holding his like a rag doll that bounced about as it fucked him – his eyes were vacant and stupid-looking and his mouth hung open in a dumb smile. He saw its knot had swollen at the base of its cock where the shaft emerged from its body and sheath – a pulsing bulge of slick flesh that even as he saw it he felt slam against his hole, too big to slip inside.

 He saw the wolfs long, thick neck bend and it lapped its unbelievable tongue out and licked at his face, he turned from the spectacle in the mirror, tightening his grip on its straining biceps he pulled himself up a little and in an unthinking, animal response he licked its tongue, opened his lips and took the smelly thing into his mouth, moaning from the back of his throat as he did. It forced its tongue into his mouth deeper, like seemingly every aspect of the wolf’s body it was muscular and forceful, curling about Taylor’s tongue and pressing against the roof of his mouth, then it licked out and back in, pressing at the back of his throat. He licked its tongue, sucked at the muscle and moved his lips lovingly over it, the foul smell of the creature’s breath no longer registering amidst the dense admixture of smells and textures that filled the little cabin bedroom like smoke from a fire. His mouth uttered incoherent noises of unabashed, desirous pleasure with each slick, slapping noise from the quick violent thrusts.

 He just wanted more. His whole body was on fire, his hands caressed the beast’s arms, his fingers curling in its fur as he sloppily sucked at its tongue, pressing every inch of his body he could against the monstrous creature that held him up fucking him with wild intensity. Its knot pressed against his asshole and it tried to push, and the stretching renewed, it was so thick it would not press in, but he ground his ass down against it. He wanted it, all of it, inside him. The wolf somehow fell back onto the bed still gripping Taylor in its arms, and the two mindless animals ground against each other, the boy looking down as he tried to press its knot deeper as the ache became powerfully intense, his hole alive and screaming but he wanted it.

But it came before he could work it in. It erupted as the beast made some howling noise that seemed incredibly loud in his ear, it was hotter than anything he’d felt, it rushed out forcefully squirting deep into him as the beast thrust tightly and feverishly. Taylor was babbling mindlessly, “oh yeah yes fuck yes yes yes fuck yes FUCK” his hole as was filling up but there was so much – the thick knot full of the stuff slowly deflated as its contents spurted into him and he imagined he could feel each squirt. His cock suddenly erupted, and his orgasm was so intense it bordered on painful, the cum boiling up from his balls making it feel as though his whole body might be sucked up and shot through is cock. His ass was hot and he felt full like he had to evacuate but the pressure was also wonderful, he felt his body like he’d never felt it before, as ropes of cum spilled out of his own cock onto his taught abdomen. His words drifted in to a higher octave, a kind of desperate moaning with each labored breath that left his body, he closed his eyes, there was so much to feel around him and it was becoming too much – the dark at the edge of his vision turned spotty and he realized it was gripping his throat, pulling his mouth up to its hideous snout. It forced it’s tongue into his mouth and shoved it down his throat, he weakly ran his tongue over the muscle, trying to massage it. It was hard, he wasn’t able to breath easily – he’d let his body go mostly limp, though he was kind of gyrating his ass against it, squeezing its pulsing, throbbing cock, trying to feel it and caress it with his hole, to get every drop of its horrid cum inside him as its knot deflated, spraying its contents into him. His bladder suddenly let loose, and his own piss sprayed all over him in what he decided was a kind of pleasant warmth.

At last, the loosely connected fragments of his brain lost their binding thread, his body gave in to its overwrought exhaustion, and Taylor let the midnight darkness overtake him and he passed out on the heaving breast of the beast that had stolen into his home and torn asunder the jagged remnants of his fragile identity.


	3. Guts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor picks up some of the pieces and starts putting things together, only to have his threads cut. Oh, and he gets fucked a lot.

 

**Tuesday**

 

Taylor did not wake the next day so much as he slowly gathered pieces of himself up, mentally taping fragments back together even as he left a few where they lay on the defiled bedroom floor.

Physical sensation returned first, but they came to him mixed up: the air was cool, something smelled of piss, he was on something damp, his ass was sore, but also felt strangely… good.

His feet were warm but his legs were cold. He cracked an eye, saw his jeans torn away and remembered the sensation of the back of those claws like polished stone as it had torn his jeans away - his shoes were still on though. He closed his eyes, cataloguing the memory and setting it aside. He inhaled, the air was pungent, deep, sweet and acrid at once, despite the cold he felt his cock stirring and wasn’t sure if it was his need to piss or arousal at the filthy odor. He did recognize that it turned him on, and so catalogued this thought was well, putting it aside.

Finally he rolled onto his back, checking for sore muscles as he moved but finding little beyond his ass, and that was just a dull ache. The sheets were damp, and a breeze came from somewhere, he’d need to get up soon if he wasn’t going to get sick. Taylor opened his eyes, the sun was out strong already and despite the pulled curtains the room was offensively bright, reflected by the white ceiling (spotted brown in one place) – he guessed it was mid morning, not cloudy.

Slowly, as his thoughts formed a more coherent line, he realized that he felt strangely empty, hollow almost, as though the previous day’s trauma ( _drama_ ) – his bitter resolve so quickly snapped by the beast’s ferocious strength and sex – had poured all out of him, and he’d little left to feel. He remembered crouching in the corner, terrified - shooting it and being manhandled… he looked at the hingwall where it had stood but saw no hole there - _so I did hit it._

And then it had fucked him. _And I liked it._ Taylor knew there should be shame and anger, the bubbling self-loathing of the previous day’s angst. But it just wasn’t there. He felt eerily detached and at the same time horny, his cock strained as the sense memory of the thing on top of him, pushing in, warm, hairy, heavy, covering him. _Swallowing me._ He reached down to stroke himself, but his hands and shaft were both sticky with piss, and so he just lazily ran his fingers over the pulsing tube on the bottom of his cock, looking down at it with his head cocked to the side, as though it were in a shop window.

 _I liked getting fucked._ Now he felt a slight tension in his chest, but he exhaled and repeated in his mind, _I like getting fucked._ He flexed his asshole felt a little of that tingle, that strange feeling he’d never before felt. He also realized he had to go to the bathroom, and then recalled the thing had come deep inside him.

His strange mood only persisted, even as he expelled the cum (there was a surprising amount) and other contents, he wasn’t disgusted - just kind of vaguely intrigued, as if he were watching a nature documentary.  As he showered he tried to take stock of himself. For two days a monstrous creature had come and raped him in this isolated cabin, for unknown reasons. Somehow it had known he’d like it, maybe some kind of primal instinct. It was clear the most rational thing to do was leave, get in his car and drive away, but he decided instead he’d need to really clean up the mess in the cabin. _Can’t let mom and dad come up here to find it like this._ He couldn’t leave, not now, not yet. _Why?_ He hushed that line of rational thinking.

After his shower, he pulled up the sheets and mattress pad, thoughtfully checking the labels for instructions before putting them in the washer in the small closet in the kitchen, unperturbed by the piss soaked into them. As he walked out of the bedroom, he noticed the window of the opposite bedroom had been opened, and a lower one  of the four panes in the top was smashed. _Clever, quiet._

His watch showed it was almost ten in the morning, and Taylor stood  in the kitchen, half naked in his last pair of jeans, surveying the task ahead. Wood had been stacked against the door, the doorjamb would need to be replaced or fixed - that would be a larger project that’d have to wait –he’d pick up a temporary lock and install it on the door. The window would need to be covered where it was broken. The house needed a good mopping, he’d need to look up a video on how to do it properly, he’d never really mopped before.

As he removed the wood, leaving some for a fire later, he vaguely noted his own, unperturbed calm. More than that, he felt a strange lack of fear, anxiety, anger - all the emotions he’d long  held so close had evaporated, it seemed. His bored indifference had too, somehow - he’d never cleaned up after himself before, not really. He tried briefly, an armload of wood in haul, to figure out what had changed, but couldn’t, and decided to stop thinking about.

 

***

He drove to the Lowe’s store about 20 minutes down the four-lane, and he called his mom after he got service towards the bottom of the hill. She was surprised to hear from him, but seemed happy to talk until he told her something had broken in the cabin. Yes, he was fine, no, nothing seemed stolen ( _except my dignity_ ), yes, it was strange, maybe an animal. He assured her he’d get things sorted, he was going to buy a lock now and other stuff to fix things up.

As he approached the turn off for the Lowe’s, he suddenly stopped talking. The trees stood tall on one side of the four-lane and the road seemed to go on forever, disappearing into forest that promised to cover it up. _I could just keep going, I should just keep going. Keep driving until I’m somewhere no one knows me. Where no werewolves roam._

“Honey? Are you okay?”  His mothers concerned voice snapped him from his reverie, he slowed and pulled into the turn lane. “Yeah” his voice was thin, weak, he desperately wanted water, “Yeah I’m fine, just about to park. I’ll call you later mom.” Her voice still sounded concerned but she let him go, saying she loved him.

He gathered some wood, a lock he’d bolt to the  the inside of the front door ( _I can always lock the back door from outside when I leave_ ), and some cleaning supplies. But when a young employee approached asking if he needed a cart he nearly let his haul drop to the ground. The man was young, maybe a little older than Taylor, with medium length brown hair, and a little stubble, he had a prominent chin, and dark eyes. Taylor realized, or let himself realize, he was attracted to him.

“No, thanks” he almost said, _no thanks, I’m gay._ But he managed to keep it inside, and laughed a little, which brought a confused smile to other’s face.

He just stood there, in the aisle, looking at the man walking away. He felt something, maybe like fear, or anxiety, it was curling up beneath his breast – this morning he’d admitted he liked getting fucked. Now he realized he liked men, was attracted to them - he’d fucked girls before, he found some pretty, so he didn’t really know what that meant. And it wasn’t like it was a guy who fucked him - but for some reason in the cleaning supplies aisle he decided to own up to the fact that he was, in fact, into guys too.

He started to sweat, he looked around him and when he breathed he shuddered, as though all of the sudden everyone around him would see, would know. He thought the moment of realization should be more profound, like he should have realized this somewhere important, maybe at the cabin, with a drink in front of the fire. But here he was, and he admitted to himself that maybe it wasn’t a revelation, really – as he stood there seemingly staring at Mr. Clean he remembered Kieth the other wide receiver, they’d been close, in the locker room he’d found himself looking, maybe longing at his incredible physique, he’d been handsome with deep brown skin and a smile that would win over anyone. And it hadn’t just been Keith. _I wonder how he’s doing._

The strain of the items in his arms pulled him from his reverie of realization. He managed to once again shift his mind into neutral, to try and simply catalogue this new fact along with the others - and so he rationalized that, after all, he now knew monsters were real, so being into dudes didn’t seem like a huge deal in comparison. He chose a checkout lane with an older woman behind the register.

 

***

 

The day was warming, and though not quite warm it was pleasant enough for him to open all the doors and windows and let the air filled with scents of sex, musk, and urine filter out into the early afternoon air. The trees around the cabin swayed gently in the breeze ( _they’re waving at me_ ), the sun just past high noon now shared the blue sky with an increasingly dense throng of clouds. The floors of the house were variously scattered with small throw rugs, and he went around the bedroom and the living room to sniff them, and decided to wash these as well, switching the sheets over the dryer and smelling to make sure the odor was gone. A blog he’d found earlier had suggested throwing vinegar in with the detergent to lessen the odor, and it seemed to have done the trick, so he did this same with the rugs.

At the foot of the washer he found the jeans he’d worn Sunday night, still damp and reeking of urine - and he was about to throw them in with the rugs, but then he stopped. He followed a strange impulse and brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply, it was intensely pungent and sweet-ish, that unmistakable  and acrid odor of piss. But somehow the smell made his stomach twirl in excitement, not disgust, there was something so perverse about it, so _dirty_ , the way the beast had just marked him like he was a stump it used to scratch its back. He knew it was fucked up, maybe it was why he was excited, and he inhaled deeply once more - and still he was turned on - it was so disgusting but hot too somehow. He walked out to the front porch, and hung the jeans on the bannister in the spotty sunlight to dry. Despite the breeze, as he stood there, the air seemed oppressively quiet - there was a kind of heavy stillness in the air itself that carried a strange silence that kept the dancing leaves from whispering. He turned the TV on to break the wall of quiet, and the horror movie marathon was still going - he pressed the information button and saw it was a movie called _Cursed_ . A werewolf movie. _So it goes._

First he mopped the bedroom, it wasn’t clear piss had spilled here but he wanted to be sure, sure no one would know. And as he worked his mind started to purr to life, and he let it try to sort things out. It was like getting fucked had unlocked something he couldn’t put away… was he gay? Maybe, but what did that have to do with human-like wolves roaming the woods in search of a hot fuck? Where did the wolf _go_?

He finished the bedroom and turned on the ceiling fan to help dry, then went to the living room. He kept looking out the window as if it would appear, that is, until one of the characters in that movie came out as gay to the nerdy kid in the movie. _Huh. Weird._ He stopped and looked at the gay character on screen, trying to see if he felt...anything. _He_ is _hot._ Pretty even, in an all American way. He tried to imagine the guy naked, on top of him… his erection answered his lingering question.

He resumed his mopping, But in that moment he realized that the gay thing wasn't what was bugging him. He recalled the sensations vividly, how it had simply picked him up and handled him, forced its cock down his throat, how it had forced him, degraded him with its piss - and how he’d had to give up. _Just let it use me._ His chest fluttered, his heart was pounding at the thought. It had treated him like an animal, like a bitch in heat – and somehow, last night, he had turned into a bitch in heat. It was so overwhelming, controlling, forceful … _and I liked it._ Loved it.

He was blushing, embarrassed, his strange detachment melting as he tried to figure out what turned him on. It wasn’t normal, it was fucked up, weird. Who cared if he was gay, or whatever, if he was turned on by… he didn’t know what word to put to it. The past two nights’ experiences were humiliating, degrading, filthy - but his cock stood out like a beacon. _What’s normal? Most people don’t think werewolves are real._

As he dumped the water out over the porch railing, he has another disquieting thought. _What if it doesn’t exist? What if it's in my head?_ Like when in movies people made thing up in their heads? It kind of made sense, he’d been depressing so much ( _or is it ‘repressing’?_ ), maybe it was like trying to get out, like a split personality. And he’d been watching horror movies a lot on TV - sure there was piss everywhere, he’d just mopped it up – but maybe it was his. _Right, I think I did piss myself last night!_ He was embarrassed at the memory, but more worried he was going nuts. It made more sense than that here was a man-sized wolf thing roaming the woods and fucking him, and it _had_ forced him to confront all the shit he’d tried to bury.

Taylor shook his head, _maybe I’m better now, I’m kind of working things out._ His pulse slowed, he looked over the trees at the lengthening day - it was mid afternoon but the clouds were thickening and the air was cooling. He went inside and put a t shirt on before turning to the window in the bedroom - he couldn’t fix the pane itself so he taped over it, then put a brace of wood over the lower section to keep it from opening if a burglar did come by. _Did I do this, and not remember?_ He nailed the brace into the frame so it couldn’t be easily discarded by someone reaching in.

He grabbed a beer and turned to the door, drilling holes for a lock lower down in the door frame. It was a simple bolt lock but it was sturdy and would do for the moment. He attached the latching piece to the door first then matched up the bracket on the door frame,, using a pencil to mark the position out. Maybe he’d come back the next weekend and make a project out of the door frame, this was the kind of thing he had a knack for and his parents would trust him to do it. It wasn’t just the manual stuff, he had a good eye for design and style, and it was one of the few things he’d taken pride in. _Why would I have broken the door though… if it’s all in my head?_ Being here, alone, there was no one to tell him either way, because no one but him had experienced what had happened. _No one knows._ No one saw him, and his mother had bought his story about the damage to the house, and now he’d cleaned up the perverse evidence of whatever had happened. None of his few friends ( _are they?_ ) back at school knew he liked to be treated… _like what?_ And then it came out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Bitch”. His voice was low and raspy, and the word sounded revelatory, like he was speaking the name of an ancient god long slumbering beneath the dirt and the gnarled roots of the ancient trees.

“Odd thing to call a lock.” Taylor started, he’d been sunken in the surf of his thoughts and only now saw Van, the shop owners’ son at the screen door. He recognized the voice, it was low, sardonic - and had always had a kind of crispness, sounding more intelligent than the rest of the Burrow town residents. Taylor was inside on his knees where he’d been working and in the  late afternoon light cast across the other boy’s shoulders he suddenly had the impression that the wolf, hulking and terrible, darkened his doorway, and he felt an irrational terror grip him. As though it could sense him, his thoughts, the shameful pleasures that had stripped his mind down and slipped off his tongue.

“Um…” his brain was slowed by panic, and he couldn’t manage to string words together. It was Van standing there in skinny grey jeans and deep wine red shirt that was loose around his waist but stretched across his chest, not a wolf that presently opened the screen door and walked into the cabin, hardly paying any attention to Taylor as he walked by him as though this were his cabin. For a moment Taylor had to look around to assure himself. _My head's been so messed up, wouldn’t be surprised._ Though the impression of the wolf slowly faded, for some reason his panicky fear still clung on beneath his rapidly beating heart.

Van turned to look at the TV that was now emitting a series of screams, moans, and heavy breathing. Seeing the beer on the living room coffee table where Taylor had set it, the other picked it up, swirling the bottom to see if there was any contents before bringing it to his lips. Whatever mix of calm, confusion, and fear had been overwhelming Taylor broke, and he stood and reclaimed some of his old indignity. “What the fuck?” His voice sounded more forceful than he felt, and came as a surprise to himself. It was something familiar, for once.

Van smirked, a clearly sardonic smile that was still handsome on his angular tanned face. The look sent a shiver down Taylor’s spine, the panicky feeling returned, something strange was going on. “I just dropped in to see if you were still up here” Van’s voice was casual in a way that seemed forced as he turned to look out at the lowering sun burning with that distinct late-day orange.

No matter what he said to himself, Taylor was unable to calm down, something was pumping fear and adrenaline into him. _Is it because he’s hot?_ No, he was, but that wasn’t it, there was something getting under his skin about the way Van was acting, and when Taylor spoke his voice had a hard edge, like a frightened dog with its hackles raised. “Yeah, well, classes don’t start until later tomorrow morning.”

There  was a silence between them, and despite the tampon ad on the TV it was unmistakably tense. The smirking look never left the others face as he turned to look at Taylor, “no”he said in that forcedly casual tone, “I mean after last night, wasn’t sure you’d still be around.”

Taylor had at some point stood and it felt as though his guts were attached to the floor and dropped as he did. _Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck?!_ He was sweating but felt frozen, his mind raced to try and comprehend what the smirking man was getting at. _Mom called them, that must be it._ His voice lost its edge, “what… what do you mean? Nothing happened…” he paused, searching Van’s face that looked away once more, “...last night” it was almost a plea.

The other turned and strode toward the fridge, his manner displaying both ease and confidence, he opened the fridge and pulled a beer out. His head popped up over the door, “besides getting slapped around and fucked” it was casually dropped, he straightened with a beer in his hand, and the sound of the fridge closing felt so loud Taylor flinched. _Someone saw, he saw. Someone saw me. He knows._ He kept running over he words in his head, with each repetition his emotional flood shifted course from fear, to confusion, to anger. The pit of his stomach threatened to swallow the whole universe - but unexpectedly there was in that pitch black hole that boiling boyish, petulant anger.

He was moving, not really thinking, in a few quick steps he was on the other and had grabbed his shirt at the neck, there was a tearing sound, but he wasn’t processing, “what the FUCK - You fucking fag you watching me?!  You get off on that kinda—“ Van moved quickly, his free hand landed in Taylor’s gut and he was so surprised he let go. To look at the two of them, you’d have thought Taylor was clearly the stronger, but the sheer force of the blow caught the boy by surprise, spilling the air from his gut as he bent double, unable to keep from falling to his knees. Again with a surprising ( _unnatural_ ) strength, he felt a hand grip the longer blond hair atop his head as Van moved to shove his head into his crotch. Despite the grey denim of his skinny jeans there was the unmistakable shape of an erection down his leg - it was big. _What?!_

Taylor tried to shove away, gripping Van’s thighs and pushing back despite the pain of the hand that gripped him, but Van was impossibly strong and it felt like he was holding him with ease single-handedly, gyrating his hips roughly rubbing the erection into his face through the denim. Taylor heard the _snap_ of a can opening, then “I thought for sure you’d take off after everything I did to you - but I guess you proved last night you’re an eager little bitch” he yanked Taylor’s head back so that he had to look up into his grey eyes that were now staring down at him intensely, mirth and humor gone from his face. His shirt was torn at his left shoulder and beneath the fabric he noticed the flesh was discolored, and purple shading into red.

Taylor’s mind was short circuiting with fear and he just voiced a pained, outright denial, the anger of his words lost in the shaking tenor of his voice, “What the fuck are you talking about?! I’m nobody’s fucking bitch” he heard his old self trying to fight through, but Van stepped forward over him and letting go his hair forced Taylor to fall back painfully on his elbows as Van stood commandingly over him. Again, his mind sent alarms ringing as he looked at the slender waist and broad shoulders, Van took a sip of beer (a few drops from the can fell on Taylor’s neck, making him flinch), his eyes were hypnotically intense  “I was surprised, I’ll admit. I figured I’d break you, but I never thought I’d find a willing faggot when I did.”

 _Fuckfuckfuck._ His mind felt like it was slamming itself against a wall, all the filthy things he’d done hitting him like a punch, the other had somehow watched, seen him, knew everything. Van slipped off one of his dark brown loafer, and as though it were the most normal thing in the world he pressed his bare foot against Taylor’s crotch, leaning forward slightly and slowly increasing a painful pressure on his balls. “I was just planning a little fun…I could smell your dumb ass when you rolled into town” _what the fuck does that mean?!_ Taylor leaned up and grabbed his leg, trying with all his might to shove it away but the other’s strength was more than a match.

“What the fuck get the fuck OFF me!” His voice betrayed his confusion and panic, he raised a fist and was midway to punching Van’s balls, but somehow the other moved fast enough to catch his wrist. _Impossible._

The grip on his wrist tightened painfully, his balls hurt like crazy, he had trouble catching his breath for the intensity, like a hook pulling through his gut. “You probably liked it when I marked you, huh? You liked my piss all over you. You nasty bitch. “ Taylor hadn’t been listening, or thinking, just trying to get away, but suddenly Van’s words clicked and all his movements stopped as his brain hit stride.

 _Your piss?!_  Had he imagined the wolf after all, had it been Van somehow? “What the hell are you _talking_ about?! You... weren't… haven’t been here.” His voice shook, on some primordial level he recognized the posture of the boy that glowered over him –  though his rational mind rejected this, he was nonetheless afraid - as afraid as he’d ever been in the presence of the beast - and despite the cool air from the door sweat trickled down the left side of his brow. Van leaned up, his foot relenting, and Taylor heard a gasp that was his own voice.

Van sipped his beer, his foot resting gently on the boy’s crotch as he looked out the big window at the sun rolling towards the treetops. “Don’t worry bitch, you’ll get some more soon, but you have to drink it as punishment” he looked down, annoyance showing in his eyes, “ It’s one thing to call me a fag in my own store. But fucking _shooting_ me, after everything I’ve done for you!” _Done for me?!_ He set down his beer can on the distressed faded blue paint of the coffee table, and with a graceful gesture removed his torn shirt to reveal a lithe, tight abdomen broadening to a strong chest and muscular shoulders that were still slim somehow. His left shoulder was marred by an ugly bruise, the size of baseball, reddish and blue, with a clear divet at its center. He positively glared down at the boy, “still hurts like hell.”

His brain jumped at this chance, _bullets leave holes_ was the most intelligent thing he came up with. “I…never…I didn’t _shoot anyone_! That’s just a bruise… you’re nuts” His voice was desperate, urgent now, “it’s just a bruise” he repeated, his voice trailing off beneath the withering gaze that struck out from those grey eyes.

“I heal real quickly”  Van looked again out the picture window at the setting sun, “especially around the full moon. But then everything gets a little…exaggerated…around the moon.” He drew his free hand across a faded pink scar along his left side. _Where I tried to knife the thing._ A thousand thoughts followed from this one, each more terrified and confused,  yet louder than the others was the one that told him that the handsome and freakishly strong boy in front of him had somehow been a monster last night. _And he knows, he remembers. “_ It was you.”

Van laughed and let his wrist go, and Taylor fell back to the floor, the strength had left his body, anger fled as a kind of thick, despairing terror fell over him like a leaded blanket. Van knelt down so his knees nearly pressed Taylor’s armpits, and with a hand that seemed inhumanly long and stronger than any person Taylor had ever known, he took the stunned boy’s wrists and methodically pinned them with a single hand to the floor over his head. Taylor was slack jawed, unresisting. _My life is over. It’s over._ There was no going back, Van would tell everyone, and everyone would know, they’d shun him, laugh at him, reject him. Even his parents would be disgusted, how could they not? He was supposed to be a man but he wasn’t anything like that. He was crying, his whole life was falling to pieces, everything he’d ever thought seemed foolish, stupid, a self serving lie. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, embracing the pain it brought as his skull hit the wooden floor. When he found his voice it sounded wretched, pathetic, “just…kill me now. You’re going to anyway, right?”  That was how this would end, of course, that violence lingering beneath the surface of their previous encounters, it pulsed in the throbbing veins beneath the Van’s tensed muscles like a bear trap that was poised to snap shut at any moment and tear him to shreds. He’d end up like that doe, disemboweled, discarded, destroyed. _Good._

But then those muscles relaxed, and though Van’s eyes were impassive he smiled slightly as he stared down at the quietly sobbing boy. “Why would I do that? I’ve been _dying_ for a willing bitch to service me! You know what a pain it is to drive to college towns every full moon when the change happens, and Roofie some dumb, closeted frat boy?” None of this made any sense to Taylor.  Van closed his eyes, his muscles tensed once more, it seemed like he was concentrating. “See I _need_ to _fuck_ when the moon gets around full” the words sounded strained, “or then I get violent. Tear shit up, like that fucking deer” his voice had a pained intensity and Taylor couldn’t keep the image of the defiled doe from his imagination. Taylor had stopped crying as he was mute with fear though his body shook with little tremors that ran from his spine like little earthquakes down his body. He had no doubt now the monster was on him, straddling him, he could feel the thing’s power, the raw ferocity thickened the air between them even though Van was doing little at all - just holding Taylor pinned beneath him. Then, like a switch had been flipped, the animal intensity seemed to disappear, and when he opened his eyes they were kind of happy, almost warm.

“But now I have you.”

 

 _Now I have you._ It was such a strange thing to say.

No one had ever said anything like that to Taylor.

_No one's ever wanted to have me._

_I never wanted me._

_Now I have you._

_Bitch_.

 

Taylor shivered again, and it wasn’t entirely fear that shook his body, but he wasn’t sure what he was feeling and his thoughts were confused - so he just lay there. Van reached back behind them, ( _his arms are so long!_ ) and felt around Taylor’s jeans pocket, retrieving his phone, which he dropped on the pinned boy’s chest. _What now?!_ But where there should have been dread there was just anxious curiosity. With deliberate gestures, Van unbuttoned the top button of his jeans, and slowly lowered the zipper, and as it reached the bottom of its track his hefty cock poured out from a thick dark bush of curly pubic hair. It was big - uncircumcised and the flesh was darker than the rest of his body, it was long too and bulged out in the middle like one of those Japanese eggplants (where had he seen one of those before?), he could see the outline of a mushroom head beneath the flesh of its hood. It smelled strongly, a warm musky scent almost like dirt but with a pungent sharpness cutting through it. Taylor was impressed, he had to admit to himself - he knew he should be disgusted by another guy’s dick, but he couldn’t pretend he was anymore. He didn’t register how quickly his own despair has dimmed to a distant whisper.

Van leaned up on his knees, he let Taylor’s wrists free and grabbed his hair, and as he leaned up he brought his heavy half-hard cock to meet Taylor’s lips - and with his other hand he picked up Taylor’s phone and held it over him. _Recording_ . Taylor pushed against him with his free hands, grabbing the wrist of the hand that had his hair while pushing against his thigh with the other, but it was like trying to lift a boulder the strength in the limbs was remarkable. It pressed against his lips, it was warm, the smell was powerful as the skin wrapped around the head like a sheath. “Open up” Taylor looked up and tried to show his anger and frustration on his face even though he wasn’t sure he felt those things, and his lips were opening even as he saw the other smirking just a little, the skin was soft and smooth and warm and pressed just up under his nose with that mix of urine and cum and musk. “Better be a good little bitch and swallow if you want to suck my cock” his voice was amused yet kind of stern, like a parent playing at being stern with a child. _Swallow what?_ If he wasn’t sucking his cock…

His lips had tentatively spread over the swollen head of the shaft ( _it must look like I’m kissing his cock_ ) and he felt the hot spray of urine as his dull brain caught up to their situation. It felt unnatural, his body reacted as he pushed and convulsed but was held impossibly firm - it was horribly hot, bitter, like hot day-old beer with a deep, pungent acridness. _Fuck. I just got all the piss up off the floor. I’m not mopping again._ The thought seemed perfectly normal, reasonable - he was looking up angrily at Van who now had closed his eyes with a look of relief across his face. A little piss dribbled down the corner of his mouth. _Fuck_ . He swallowed. He felt like vomiting, it was unbearable as it went down if felt like all the cells that lined his throat were angry and trying to spit the stuff back up. He swallowed again, his stomach convulsed and heaved, it didn’t want to do this - he wasn’t pushing or struggling now just trying to keep from retching all over the two of them. He pressed his lips to the head to seal it, but Van pulled him back so the stream splashed into his open mouth. He swallowed again, and Van had an incredible look now - his eyes open ( _was there some yellow mixed in he grey?_ ) and he looked down without much emotion beyond a kind of lingering smile just dancing around the corner of his lips and a condescending look in his eyes. Taylor swallowed again, his mouth full, the bitterness overwhelming his mouth so he had to force himself to keep it open, as it filled once more even as the flow slowed and Van brought the tip back to his mouth, their eyes never breaking contact. Van shook the last few drops into Taylors open mouth, his hand no longer holding the boy’s head in place - and before the camera and the man on top of him he once more swallowed, his whole body shuddering in disgusted protest.

Taylor was sweating, he gripped Van’s thighs but did not push, he felt like he’d just been through a hard workout, it'd been horrible but he’d pushed through it. Van smiled, looking down at the phone as his heavy shaft fell to Taylor’s chest.  “I knew you’d make a good bitch” Taylor heard the unmistakable _swoosh_ of an text message being sent, “and now I’ve got this little video in case you need… encouragement.”

 _I’m so disgusting - I let him use me. Piss in my mouth. It's horrible._ Van tossed Taylor’s phone down on his chest and stood over him in a single smooth  motion. Taylor took little notice, he lay there, and did not know what to do. When Van had walked in, he’d just been scrabbling back to some semblance of the person he’d been, or _some_ person - and he’d convinced himself that no one knew, that he could figure this out. Now he felt destroyed, like an explosion had irrupted inside him. It was like he was an empty field, not a pretty green but a desolate, barren grey like the ugly grit of industrial sand. The emptiness that welled up from the warmth sloshing in his stomach threatened to swallow him, so complete was it that he did not even register his own erection. He heard himself say “who the fuck cares if you send it to anyone? _Every_ one? My life is fucking over anyway” and he meant it, he didn’t see any way he could go back to that campus, back to his friends, back to his parents. He’d been able to lie to himself up to this point, but now he felt empty, but for a burning shame - whatever shambles of a lie he’d presented as himself for so long had slipped away ( _pissed away_ ) and there was only emptiness and a sense of being lost in that vast, dead field with nothing in sight to guide him.  

“Don’t be so dramatic” Van’s voice was chiding, and startled Taylor from his dark thoughts. He stood half naked with his semi-erect cock hanging out, sipping his beer as he gazed out at the setting sun. The play of light over his abdomen and chest, casting his face in relief, was… _beautiful_ . “Your life isn’t over” Van’s eyebrows raised into a kind of pleased smile, “your real life is just beginning.” Taylor couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the old smart ass in him apparently not dead entirely, “what the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Van was stroking his cock, it was fully erect now and thicker and longer than Taylor’s, and he realized he’d been staring at the other’s manhood since it had left his lips. “Well...you want to suck my cock, don’t you?” Taylor knew he did, beneath that shame and the grey wasteland something had taken root, a simple pure desire formed where the purplish head of the other’s cock had met his lips, which still carried its musty, warm taste. He involuntarily let his tongue out over lips, just a little dart, but Van saw and smirked down at him. “How can your life be over? Dead boys aren’t hungry” he gripped his erection by the base and shook the heavy shaft at Taylor, “now quit being morose and come suck my cock” his smirk remained but his voice was stern, commanding.

The angry young man who’d stood on that barren grey waste, the one that had walked into the cabin a few days ago, would simply have said “fuck no, fuck off.” But he was gone, the field empty – but for those new verdant roots that pushed up from the toxic, sick soil with urgency now, as though fed life by the degrading violation of Van’s piss. Taylor decided, clearly in his head, that he didn’t know anything anymore, the world and it’s rules had failed him – it hadn’t really much liked him anyway -– but he knew he wanted to feel that soft, engorged skin in his mouth, wanted to feel the other man standing over him (“ _now I have you”_ ), wanted those hands on him as strong and commanding as they had been before. _I want to suck his cock._ He said it in his head, but he flinched as though it had been shouted - and he realized he was excited, his core was buzzing with nervous electricity, his cock was hard as it had ever been.

 _I want to suck his cock._ He wanted so much more than that.

He pushed up onto his elbows, absentmindedly putting his phone back in his pockets he stood. He looked Van in the eye, then at his heavy shaft hanging down in an arc from its base. He was moving towards him but felt like he wasn't really doing anything, just a machine pulling levers somewhere lifting his shuffling feet. Then Taylor was next to him, staring down at it, his hand gently traced the outline of the mushroom shaped head, encircled the warm, soft skin. Van spoke softly but firmly, “worship it, suck it, make me come.” _Worship._ He’d never believed in anything, really, never cared enough to worship - never let himself care.

He was on his knees and inhaling, deeply, he felt like he was trapped in his own nightmare, he couldn't control his body, it was like he was outside of it looking in. _Worship it._ He wet his lips with a quick run of his tongue and then kissed the head, inhaling deeply that distinctive scent, the odor that was so densely masculine. He was no longer outside his body, he was here, doing this and found the feel of that flesh once more against his lips (still sore and tender from their  previous encounters) sent little shocks running through him. He wanted to see more of him, and gently brought his hands to Van’s hips, slipping his fingers tenderly beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, he negotiated the underwear and jeans further down his thighs. His balls were big, and hung down like tantalizing fruit. The dense bush of hair at the base of the beautiful shaft radiated out to cover his thighs, and Taylor ran his hands over that hair and the flesh of his thighs, so warm it was almost hot.

Taylor’s kiss became open-mouthed as he let his lips open and instinctively covered his bottom teeth so the weighty shaft was not put to discomfort. It was such an incredible specimen, he’d seen enough cocks in the locker room but this was somehow perfectly masculine, everything he’d thought he should be but couldn’t ( _it should be worshipped_ ).

“Pull the skin back.” Van stared down at him with that impassive, exquisite ( _where’d that word come from?_ ) condescension that made Taylor feel warm, his chest twirled and twisted about as he realized he was being told what to do and obeying. He raised his right hand from Van’s thigh and delicately took the skin around the head between his fingers and pulled it back over until the reddish head was fully free of the hood. The scent was more intense now, and as he slowly placed his wet lips over it, sucking it into his mouth with meticulous attention - it seemed like he could taste that dense smell, salty and pungent and compelling. The tense line of tissue beneath the head rested on his tongue as he wrapped his lips around the crest of the cock head, sucking gently as he pressed his lips against it, pulling the crown back over his lips and then sucking it back in. He knew from jerking off this could be the most sensitive place, and wanted to make it feel warm, wet, and tight, and then he was slowly moving his head back and forth over that wonderful skin, supple yet rigid with arousal.

 _I’m sucking a cock._ He’d had his face fucked by a monster but his was so different, this was a guy’s cock and he was sucking it and it filled him with a fearful thrill. He began to move his head back and forth, with each movement he took a little more of the dick into his mouth, its musky odor mixing into the lingering bitterness of piss. It wasn’t easy, the cock was thick and he had to keep his mind on things to keep it away from his teeth, he wrapped his lips over his teeth on top and bottom, using his tongue to run beneath it. Taylor realized he loved it, this feeling - the physical sensation was incredible, the skin of his cock, its weight and girth wrapped in the gentle, delicate flesh, it just _felt_ good. But it was more than the lovely shaft that thrummed in his mouth, it was being here, on his knees before another guy…

He began to suck in earnest, pressing against the shaft with his lips he bobbed back and forth, using pressure from his lips to pull the skin over the head back and wrapping his tongue around the tangy skin there. Van made little noise but his posture and breathing betrayed the pleasure he took. It was long and thick, and as Taylor arched his back down it pushed against the back of his throat and for some reason he moaned, he wanted more.

“Fuck I can’t believe how fucking into it you are. All those years calling everyone else ‘faggot’ and look at you, so happy with my fat dick in your mouth. It looks perfect on your pretty lips.” _Pretty._ The simple word sounded incredibly perverse in some way he couldn’t quite get hold of.  Taylor hadn’t talked too much with Van since they were kids, and part of him was surprised at the strength in his voice and the coarseness of his words. He was surprised more how much they turned him on, though he had to try and keep his mind on what he felt with his mouth, and the new ways he was finding to use muscles in his jaw _. It’s too big. But I took that nasty wolf dick…_ his thoughts were strange to him, but he laid this disquiet aside.

Taylor felt his head painfully grabbed from behind and jerked back so suddenly there was still a thin bridge of spit between the shaft’s tip and his wetted lips. Vans eyes stared down with new intensity. “Give me your phone.”  Head still gripped tight, Taylor fumble awkwardly for his pocket, fishing the device out and into the others waiting hand. Van pulled his head closer, rubbing the salvia slickened shaft over Taylor’s face as he pointed the phone and its camera at him, and Taylor’s blood pounded as he hoped this was just a video, not one of those “live” things. _Who cares if it is?_

“Suck.” Taylor pulled his head back and took the cock in his mouth, carefully guiding the thick, throbbing shaft in his mouth and wrapping his lips tight, sucking while never breaking the steel rod that connected their gaze. “You’re going to be my bitch” his voice was strong and clear, the words fell over him, and he felt something he’d never expected – relief. It was so simple, _he_ was so commanding, and Taylor liked these thing he was doing even as he felt humiliated. _Bitch._ The word fluttered inside him, he felt light,

Van was actively fucking his face, and was pumping harder now, and Taylor listened but also concentrated on the cock in his mouth, trying to guide it safely past his teeth and suck with his lips tight at the same time as the other thrust his hips into his mouth, Taylor’s head held tight. Van’s voice was growing coarse as he spoke - sexual energy filling his words and that strange undertone from before returned, like he was restraining something, even though his voice had not risen, “You’ll take everything I give you. Do Everything I tell you. And you’ll fucking love it.” He pushed further, past the back of Taylor’s throat, and Taylor gagged and his whole core seemed to jump in spasmodic reaction, he tried to keep it down and wasn’t really doing a good job. The shaft was thick and it pressed against his esophagus, stretching his throat, Van pulled back and Taylor had to swallow air and whatever else threatened to emerge before the other pushed in again, and he couldn’t keep from gagging and straining as tears forced themselves out. He heard that voice in his head - _take everything I give you_ \- and forced himself to keep whatever was in his belly down even though his eyes and nose streamed at the effort, he felt a disgusting mess but the other man didn’t seem to care. To the contrary he smiled as he forcibly humped his cock now buried deep in the boy’s throat.

Taylor looked up at him, at his eyes, at their intense commanding power, and despite the relative pain and discomfort - his lips hurt and his throat was sore from the thick flesh rubbing over it - his body and mind were overwhelmed with a passion he’d never felt before. On some level he recognized that he had felt this that first night, feeling his head - his whole self - caught up in that strange beast’s grasp, its utter power over him had been queerly thrilling, he’d had to give up - to give into it. _Give in._ But it was so much more than just that surrender - he partly heard Van’s  words, but more than that he felt them - they washed over him like a warm torrent of rain, washing everything away with their commanding degradation.

Van pulled his cock out, and with only a quick gulp of air Taylor started to suck again, finding the man’s dick coated in a kind of slime that was thicker than spit. Though he wasn’t thinking much, he did think then of what his friends at school would say if they saw him, on his knees with his back arched and his eyes staring longingly at the boy ( _man_ ) no bigger or older than himself who fucked his face mercilessly, a noise like a hungry, needy moan slipping out when his cock pulled back before plowing back into his face. It was as though he were the one undergoing ( _what did he call it?_ ) the change, the posture of a man was gone and here was his receptive supine body, his whole being trying to take the cock further down his throat. He should feel ashamed - he knew he should, and maybe even a part of him did, he was being recorded after all - but Van was right… he loved it. Ten minutes ago his world had seemed empty - but now he felt so good, nearly indescribable - he didn’t know why, but it did, and he knew then he’d do whatever Van said to feel this way again.

“Fuck yeah bitch get into it” Taylor hadn’t fully realized that Van had lessened his grip, and on his own Taylor had started eagerly trying to suck his cock down his throat, he arched his back further trying to suck the thick shaft, taking pleasure in  the way it filled his mouth. It was as though all his desires from when his cock first stirred sexual thoughts in him were crashing down and overwhelming him - his thoughts short-circuited and he thrust his head and throat, moving whatever angle best let the thick thing fit fully down his throat. Still unable to repress the gag reflex he came up coughing and gagging but had hardly taken a breath before he eagerly sucked the fat purplish head between his lips and so he sucked, thinking of how good it felt to have his cock head played with, he bobbed with his back and neck, pulling his wet lips tight over the head.

Then Van grabbed him again and forced it fully down his throat, Taylor felt his nose buried in the course hair at its base. “Oh fuck,” Van’s voice sounded strange, less commanding and breathy, but quickly he regained control, “keep it down and swallow” he felt the thick line that ran the base of his cock jumping and knew it was pumping his cum down his sore throat. He wished he could feel it, taste it, and as though granting his wish Van quickly pulled out, letting another thick rope shoot out into his open mouth, another sprayed over his face and he had close one eye as another shot out ( _so much_ ) and he registered the salty tastes settling in over the other sensations lingering in his mouth. Van let the heavy head rest on his open lips, and Taylor kissed and sucked, at first eagerly but then slow, gently, recalling how sensitive it could feel at this moment, he sucked the last few drops from the head.

 _Swoosh._ Another text message sent, somewhere.

Van tucked his hefty, half-hard dick back into his tight grey denim, it’s bulge still prominent. As he walked away, Van said simply, “make a fire, it's getting cold out with the sun setting.”

For a moment, Taylor couldn’t move, and so he just stayed on his knees feeling the cum drip down his cheeks and fall onto his grey T-shirt to mix with the piss that had dribbled there.

 

***

 

As the intensity of their strange encounter dwindled, Taylor’s excitement wore off and he moved about the cabin with an awkward uncertainty, while within him increasingly large waves of doubt and confusion threatened to knock him down in the odd waters in which he stood. Van had continued to move around as though he owned the little cabin, digging leftover spaghetti out of the fridge and popping it in the microwave that was in a draw beneath the counter. He asked for something stronger than “shitty beer,” and Van produced a bottle of Jack Daniels, and upon command poured it for him, neat.

Taylor built the fire as he was told, but he felt increasingly unsure. How could he return to college? He couldn’t go back to being... that way. And what would he say to his parents? Would they find out? _Find out what?_ There was still excitement at the other’s presence, his body seemed to exude a powerful sexuality that was impossible to ignore, and Taylor decided the casual commanding demeanor was no act, he lived it: he was this way.

Taylor stood to the left of the fire, examining his work. The sun had just set, and some movie about giant cockroaches played quietly in the background - it was kind of peaceful, but for the unbearable tension and recurrent insecurity that boiled up like bile. Van came and stood in front of the fire, placing his whisky atop the mantle, and even though Taylor knew he was posing for his benefit he still took in the sight of the other looking over the purplish pink light show playing across the clouds, and felt that bile slowly recede as simple, unencumbered desire filled him, like he was a bathtub filling with warm cleansing waters.

Before Taylor realized what he was doing, he leaned forward awkwardly to kiss him, but Van shift his head and pulled away, leaning back from the mantle. And in a flash his desire was replaced by overwhelming embarrassment, his ears burned hot and he knew they were red. _What the fuck am I doing?_ He felt so stupid, he’d shown his open desire and had been shoved away.

Van’s voice was softer than before, somewhat bemused, “you have earn those privileges.”

Taylor still burned through, he wanted to crawl into the fire, it was probably cooler there than in his fiercely burning shame. He swallowed, trying to excuse his action, he stumbled on his words, “oh...I thought… I mean, I thought… last night” he recalled the beast forcing its tongue into his mouth, _no, not forcing._ He felt hot again, but in a new way.

Van smiled, and it wasn’t mean or a smirk, he leaned against the mantle again as Taylor turned his back to the fire, unable to look him in the eye, noting Van’s cock was amazingly still half-hard. His voice was easy, “yeah, well that’s different. I can’t control that.” Taylor flashed to the wolf’s fierce claws, its teeth on either side of his face, and while  he was without a scratch, he felt a little pang of fear at the thought of its vicious sickled fingers. He stuttered, feeling strangely out of place, “so you… you don’t control… um… it?”

For a while he was silent. Taylor stared down at his socks, but he felt Van’s eyes on him, his face. Staring. Then, “I _do_ , but not all the way” he seemed pensive, thoughtful. “It’s more like being drunk, on tequila, a part of me takes over, but not like… not like getting shitfaced drunk. It’s hard to say but I’m there, just something about me is way less in control. Or more in control. I mean… I’m there and it’s always there - it’s me and I’m it, even when I look like this or that.” Taylor tried to make sense of this, and recalled that shocking moment at the door where he’d sworn he was seeing the beast, and decided he kind of got it.

Van turned his back to the fire, and they both looked out at the dwindling strands of purple, and stood in silence as the light finally extinguished, though both were regarding each other’s reflection through the long, comfortable silence. Van Took a sip. “I could really change anytime, it just hurts a lot less around the full moon”

Taylor all of the sudden was filled with questions, realizing he knew nothing about what was going on. But staring at the other’s reflected eyes (they seemed to hold a bit of the faded sunlight, vividly yellow, writhing them), He asked simply “it hurts?”

Van kind of smiled. “Yeah, but on nights like tonight - It’s kind of like… like when I shoved my fat cock into you last night - it hurts you but it feels good too”. Taylor felt that furious blush wash over him, he looked down, “I ...guess” he was trying to remember the pain previous night but the sense memory only recalled a distinct pleasure, and the memory was intensely arousing.  Van laughed a little, it seemed genuine, but his voice took on an edge once more, “well you'll know what I mean tonight when I stretch your hole with my knot, bitch.”

Van grabbed his ass and squeezed, it felt good even though he was panicking inside, excited and terrified, that wet knot pasted to the inside of his eyelids. Van walked past him to the kitchen where he set down his empty glass, the dull thrumm of fluorescent tubes audible in a momentary break in commercials. He sounded conversational, “that’s what it's like around the moon - other times, it just hurts.” He paused, turning to lean back on the counter, “you know a lot of that crap about the moon is… crap. Crimes don’t actually go up and stuff like that, even though people say so.” Taylor nodded, he thought he remembered that from his anthropology class. He’d liked that class. Maybe the cable was on the blink, it was just black and quiet, and the fluorescent noise fought with the snapping hiss of the fire until Van seemed to tire of the noise and flipped the switch to his left, throwing the kitchen into shadow - and just as he did the television picked up mid-movie and the noise of a screaming woman startled Taylor, making him jump. Van laughed, and when Taylor looked up he saw the man was pulling his jeans off, gripping the ankle opening of the skinny jeans and pulling them over his feet, he left them there on the floor of the kitchen and stood naked in the light from the living room. If Taylor had questioned whether he was attracted to men he was done doing so now, and he admired Van’s body openly, not quite able to take his eyes away. And as he looked, the other’s muscles seemed to ripple, to move … though he was not moving - and Taylor wondered if it was the light of the shifting fire or something… else.

He voiced his question with plain trepidation, and a bit of excitement - “are you… you’re going to… um… change … here?”  He felt silly, it was a strange question and he was feeling nervous and confused - what was he supposed to do? Van didn’t seem to care, though his eyes were closed and his face contorted, but quickly the look passed and he opened his eyes and walked into the living room.

“No. I’d… it’d get very messy, shit broken everywhere. I never change inside.” He was silent, strong, half hard, just a few feet away, Taylor felt his heart pounding. _This is so weird._ Van continued walking to the door as though the cold air slipping in had no effect, his muscles visibly jumping beneath his skin, like little bubbles sliding down his shoulder and arms - it was alarming and yet he couldn’t look away. Van was striding toward the door, “Wait!” Taylor’s voice had a needy panic in its tone. Taylor couldn’t keep control of himself, he was terrified of what would happen when Van left - it felt as though the world was waiting outside the door to get in, to demand of him _what_ he was, _who_ he was - and so much had happened he had no idea. It wasn’t the monster that scared him - the monster was beautiful, simple - it was everything else, it was the “normal” world he no longer belonged to. The monster had dragged him across the twilight into this darkness and he was stumbling blind. How could go to school?  How could he look his parents in the eyes? When he found his voice, it was small and filled with uncertainty, “what… what am I supposed to do?” _About everything?!_

Van’s face was contorted in pain, but it smoothed into a smile as he loooked over his shoulder, “I’ll be back, just—“ his voice caught, the smile dropped away, “just get ready for me.” _What does that mean?_ But Van was out the door, walking into the dwindling blue evening light toward the pitch dark path opening. Taylor watched as he staggered, jerked to one side, then the darkness of the pathway swallowed his naked figure.

Van was gone.

 

***

 

 _Where did this person come from?_ He stared down at his phone, at the image of his own mouth eagerly sucking the thick shaft of Van’s dick. He was embarrassed and turned on at the same time - he looked good, hot even, though he was doing something so degrading. He’d been left alone with his thoughts, and it was perhaps the most frightening moment of the past fearful days. He thought about his own voices Van had left, he could hear it so clearly, whining, sad. _Weak_ . _Afraid._

“You’re gonna be my bitch” Van’s voice echoed from the phone and Taylor shook as though the waves of sound moved him physically, looking at the look in his own eyes staring up at Van’s face offscreen, half-lidded and showing some kind of… _contentment, I look happy, kinda drunk._ He was hardly grinning with that big cock in his mouth, but there was no mistaking his pure pleasure in the video, nor his own straining erection as he watched, waiting for that voice.

It had only been half an hour since Van had disappeared into the primordial forest that loomed outside his windows in the moonlit night, but he’d watched both videos several times. It was strange watching his own eyes and actions, he’d felt out-of-body earlier but this was more visceral - the cock pissing into his mouth and despite the revulsion on his face and his protesting movement his eyes showed not anger but a kind of openness, a need…  His ears burned with embarrassment, even though he’d checked that all the other man had done was text the videos to another number, which Taylor assumed was Van’s phone. He was shocked to realize a part of him had almost hoped it had been posted to some public feed, so everyone would know, so it wouldn’t be wrapped up inside him. _Between_ us _. Still, what if I have to go back?_ Back to a world that knew him as a guy, an asshole... _and_ _who the fuck was I, anyway?_ He tried to think of something that made him _him_ , but he’d spent so much time trying to blend in he couldn’t think of anything.

Now he sat by the fire, keeping the cool air of the ajar door at bay, and he knew he couldn’t go back to being the man he’d been - he didn’t want to. But he’d no idea how to deal with the few people who knew him at college - or who he was supposed to be now, beyond the hungry cocksucker he watched on his phone. _Fuck that’s hot._

There he was, giving in, obeying. _Weak, afraid._ Was that what had happened in the night - he’d become more weak and fearful? He paused the image, looked at the eager, desirous submission in his own eyes, saw his own ass sticking out as he arched his back, as though he were waiting to get fucked. _I_ am _waiting to get fucked._ His heart raced at the thought, but there was dread curled around the tight wire of his excitement. He looked at the boy in the video and knew he’d been running from him this whole time, a taciturn asshole who shut down and shut out others, his whole life he’d pretended at indifference to anything while obsessing over others’ opinions. _Weak, and afraid._

His hand shifted the phone and it accidentally picked up playing the video once more and Van’s voice rang out, “fuck yeah bitch, get into it.” He watched mesmerized as the cock shot a thick load into his open mouth, over his face.

Then Taylor said aloud, “I’m your fucking bitch.” His heart pounded and he realized he was sweating, he felt like he was being watched, not like that day in the woods but a more like someone would see and hear, and he wasn't sure if he wanted that or not. For a wild moment, he thought about posting the video to his Instagram - it would be removed… but people would see before it was – it would be so final, so simple. His hand shook, he couldn’t do that, of course, but then another wild thought occurred to him. _I’m not weaker, I’m stronger._

The thought seemed to enter his head from nowhere, and it excited him, he felt his chest tighten. How many other guys had the strength to let the bullshit and the fear go? To change? _Do I?_ It was hard to choke off the air that fueled his pride, hard to try and shape his throat around that big fucking cock, but he’d tried, and he’d try again. _I’ll take his cock in my throat, I’ll do it easy. And I have to take his knot._ It excited and terrified him, he knew it’d take a lot of perseverance, if he even could do it. _I have to, he said so._

“I’m your fucking bitch” he said it again, louder this time, the wire of excitement inside him shot through with electricity, warming the cold core of dread, he closed his eyes. “Just do what your fucking told.” His own voice sounded both newly familiar and completely alien – it had a simple, clear passion to it, the laconic indifference drained away like a pierced abscess. _Stop worrying. Start doing what you're told._

“Get ready” - what did that mean? _He’s going to fuck you._ He opened his browser and googled “getting ready for butt sex” and kind of giggled to himself, until he saw a guide to “douching”. _No way._ But he swallowed and clicked the link, saw an image of what looked like a straw with bulb on the end, and a step by step guide to anal douching. _No way._ He blushed at the very idea, it seemed too strange, and he blushed even more (his ears were burning red) when he remembered the bulb-like thing in the closet when he’d gone to replace the lightbulb, it was the same kind of thing he thought.

 _No one's going to know._ He went to the closet and retrieved the squirting thing, it was just a single piece of rubber, a bulb that narrowed to a tip - it’d been in the little closet next to old bandaids forever, and he’d no idea what it was for but it could probably do the job. And so he tried it - It was gross but he did the whole thing with that vague detachment he’d felt before, and since he hadn’t eaten all day after a while it seemed cleaner, and so he stripped to shower and wash himself, turning the heater in the ceiling vent unit on to dispel the chill. He blushed to himself the whole time he was “cleaning out” (as that online article had called it), and couldn’t help but think of how bizarre this would seem to himself of not a few days ago. There was no one else to see him, but still he felt like he was breaking some important rule and it would show up on his head like a red letter, like that book he hadn’t read in English class.

He didn’t dress again, but wrapped himself in a big, thick felt blanket of dark blue and found some slippers to warm his feet in the closet of the second bedroom. He stoked the fire and poured a little whiskey and sat on the floor before the flames to wait. The moon was up above the trees, not as furiously full as the previous night but it was hard to tell. He’d turned the horror movies back on TV but it wasn’t much distraction. Without Van’s presence he started to feel unsettled, thinking about going back to school the next day felt like a whole different world, something he’d left behind. _Someone_ . He felt like he’d died and woken up as someone else - it’d only been three days but the slim strands that had held his sense of self together had been quickly, violently severed. And while he’d discovered some powerful new pleasures and desires - he had no idea how to _be_ in this new world he created.

Part of him felt renewed, but he couldn’t shake the shame of thinking of what his friends would have said if they saw him cleaning his ass out for sex. He blushed again at the very idea, and stared down at his own body, letting the blanket fall from around his shoulders - the coals from the fire were very  hot and the warmth enough to keep the cool air from the door he’d left ajar… just in case. He looked at himself, was in good shape, though the beer had put a little bit of fat on him he still was pretty well defined. He had a little patch of blondish chest hair between his pectorals and another around his cock but was mostly smooth - and his hair on his arms and legs was fairly fine.

He’d kept in shape, but he’d never spent time (or tried not to) thinking about his body, but here out in the open of the living room, naked for anyone to happen by and see, he felt a kind of excitement. He started to run his hands over his thighs, feeling the light hair and smooth skin on the inside, gently touching himself, and he found he enjoyed his own exposed nakedness, something about being out in the living room bare but for his slippers… he brought his feet back raising spreading his knees, and ran his hands down his abdomen around his cock, though he did not touch it. Until last night, when that thing had pressed its weight down on him, lifted him like a toy, he’d never let himself _feel_ his own body. He’d worked on it, exercised it, but he’d never let himself feel… _sensual._ It was a word he would have- maybe should have- scoffed at, but it was all he could think of as he ran his hands over his own chest, his nipples, and back down over his thighs. His hands drifted down to his ass, where Van had roughly squeezed him, then he gingerly touched his hole. He exhaled in pleasure at the slight, unique tickling sensation.

 _What if they saw you?_ He thought of Alex and David, his closer friends at school, though they really just hung around and shot the shit - they’d go nuts that he was touching his own asshole. He recalled in that moment a Alex had said once that he’d slapped his last girlfriend when she’d slipped a finger in his butt while blowing him - he’d forgotten ( _or suppressed_ ) that memory. _Asshole, he probably liked it._

He stood up, looking at his naked figure open to view in the picture window - his excitement twirled in his belly as he felt his body and nakedness, his exposure to everything, but of course there was no one to see; indeed as he stared out into the dark he saw even the trees were stil. He walked to the bathroom, and as he did he walked differently, he let his hips sway and placed each foot daintily in front of the other, in what he thought was a more feminine way. He smiled to himself, wondering that his fear and repression had run so deep he’d never done anything like this even when he was alone.

He retrieved the bottle of lotion he’d used to stick the bulb-squirting thing in and a hand towel, and sat down again on the blanket by the fire. As before be pulled his knees up just a bit and leaning on one elbow he slowly tested his hole with a single lotioned finger. It was warm and weird, he slowly pushed inside, his tight hole gripping his finger - it was not a new sensation of course, but still an unfamiliar one. He liked the way it felt teasing the outside, but when it was inside it felt weird, like he had to… push out. But his finger confirmed he was clean inside. He focused on his sphincter, the strange sensation there felt kind of nice, like it kind of tickled but wasn’t irritating like tickling - it was a sensation he pushed towards and didn’t have the urge to pull away from.

He pressed a second finger, and tried to push it in. This brought a new feeling, that strange stretching he’d had last night. It reminded him of stretches before practice, when you’d push past the point of comfort, there was tension and a kind of pain but it kind of felt good too. _Getting ready,_ the thought to himself _._ With the second finger in he slowly started to thrust them in and out, the fire popped and someone on the TV was explaining about ancient pagan rites, he moved his fingers around, absorbed in his task and the physical sensation. When he curled his fingers back towards his balls, he felt that spot, and pressing  it brought a powerful new kind of pressure, it made him a little light headed and made his dick stand on end. Slowly he pushed third finger in, slowly moving up to the knuckle, he humped himself on them, lifting his ass up and pressing forward. It didn’t feel as good as last night, but he didn’t want to stop.

He’d just gotten the fourth finger in when a scream from the screen startled him from his focus, and looking up he thought he saw something move outside the picture window. _It’s here._ His heart was pounding, he wiped his hand on the towel, and tried to think what he should do - _wait_ ? The one lamp on was by the window, and he’d sworn something has moved outside, but the glare of the lights reflection had obscured things. He thought he heard something shift on the porch, _or was that the tv?_ The remote was on the nearby coffee table and he pressed the button to mute the horror film on TV.

He stood. He picked up a log from the corrugated tin they were stacked in and threw it on the fire, his hands shook though the added fuel gave him some sense of relief, then he picked up his blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. _“I get violent”._ The night outside was pierced by the blue-white glow of the moon, but he’d not turned on the floods in his distraction, and as he peered out a breeze picked up and the whole of the dark landscape seemed to move. It felt malevolent, as though the woods around were moving, closing in to trap him, maul him. He’d never been afraid of the dark, but as he looked at the door frame where the beast had burst the door in, he decided maybe he’d been wrong.   _I’ll just turn on the floods._

What if it hadn’t been … it? _What if it was?_ What if someone had seen him? What if his parents had driven up worried? His thoughts were hurried and terrified and he stood rooted for a full commercial break before he finally placed a bare foot forward, towards the partly open door. Then another, the wood floor was cold here further from the fire. He wished his blood wasn’t pumping so loud, that the trees would be quiet (or not). His eyes were slow to adjust to the darkness and in the wind it felt like looking at brackish water, little to see but moving surfaces. He placed his hand tepidly on the faded yellow wood of the screen door, elbowing the front door open wider - there didn’t seem to be anything out there, the switch was just a few feet to the right.

He walked out slowly as the darkness and cold curled around him like fingers, he quietly let the screen door close and then walked gingerly to the edge of the house where the side porch he exited on led to the longer porch along the front of the cabin. Each step on the cool wood was as careful as if he were on a thin sheet of ice. He peered around the side at the wooden planks and picnic table bathed in the shifting glow from the picture window, but there was nothing waiting to pounce on him here. Just the shifting shadows of the trees waving in the pale light, leering at his fear.

 _It_ was _the TV._

He turned to find the switch and then he saw it. His whole body froze with terror as his heart leapt. It was perched on the porch railing opposite him, its dark figure blurred into the leafy bush behind the porch, but he saw its burning yellow eyes fixed on him. It was hard to make out, but he saw its front legs gripped the railing and its back legs balanced in a crouch - he could see the glint of the light on its smooth talon-like claws. He was struck dumb, staring at it staring at him in the cold night until it let out a snarl like a bobcat and leapt, seemingly right at him, and he fell to his left and hit the wall, nearly dropping his blanket as he backed up to the screen door. It landed on all fours then quickly curled back around at him with a feline grace.

Taylor was not thinking of Van, or sex, or himself, or the future. He was in abject horror, his body was screaming at him to flee, run, _hide_ . He opened the screen door without turning his back on it, but the thing prowled up to him, moving so differently than the night before as it approached on all fours, like an aggressive dog approaching a stranger. _Like a wolf._

He stepped back but it stepped forward, its back arched low with teeth bared at him, it growled again, a noise that rose sharply to fill the space and was clearly an angry, forceful expression. _What if it isn’t him_ … _what if it’s a different one_ ? It had never occurred to him to ask, but why wouldn’t there be more? Would he have said? _Maybe that’s why he marked the house?!_

It stepped forward, snapping at the hand that clutched the blanket and he let out a terrified noise, stumbling backward, regaining his footing in front of the fireplace he turned to get his bearing on it. It was the first time he’d seen it ( _one_ ?) in the lamplight. It was wolflike enough, though it’s front legs (arms?) were longer, they bent awkwardly it seemed as it walked on all fours, and instead of paws there was an overly long hairy hand that had strange, impossible joints and fingers that looked long and thin but he knew had strength. That thick hair covered its body but piled in to a mane on top that ran down its back, but there was no tail. It’s shoulders and chest were broad and muscular but it’s torso narrowed at the waist in a long, muscular abdomen and buttocks. The flesh beneath the hair was dark, a deep brownish-grey that he saw darkened in the lips that curled horribly back from its glistening, distended jaw. It’s whole visage was vicious, it’s ears streamed back, it’s brow thick and angry, its eyes burned with an alien light. _What the fuck was I thinking?!_

Despite what he knew, or thought he knew, he couldn’t help but feel terror – this was a beast designed for violence. _Maybe he is going to kill me. He just wanted to fuck with me before he did. Maybe it isn’t him._ It took a menacing step forward, issuing low rumbling growl over the _click_ of its claws on the wood, and he thought about that doe ripped open and discarded for his benefit, a warning perhaps that violence was going to stalk him, catch him, destroy him.

Then, like a shot, a kind of peace came over Taylor. _I can’t get away, I couldn’t before, can’t now. There’s nothing I can do. Kill me, fuck me. It’ll have its way - that’s the order of things._ That sounded like something he’d heard on one of those brutal nature documentaries, and it seemed to fit. _That’s the order of things._ Slowly, he lowered his arms, dropping the blanket he’d clutched around him to the floor. The beast stopped and glared, it’s lips still curled back in a drooling snarl - it looked so different than he remembered. _Did I ever really see it?_ Taylor carefully sank into a crouch, placing his hand behind him on a fold in the blanket where it had fallen, he couldn’t take his eyes off the thing even if he’d wanted to. He stretched the blanket out with his hand and lay back, first on his elbows then finally lying prone on his back before the fire and the beast. He was trembling uncontrollably, his resolve had not lessened his fear but it had shrunk his cock to a limp frightened worm between his legs.

For a moment, it just stared at him with its shoulders hunched and one paw-hand forward, its jaws issuing that strange low noise from the back of its throat that thrummed across the odd admixture of cool and warm air like a taut rubber band that had been snapped by a finger.

The fire _popped_ loudly and his eyes were drawn to a firey coal spit out at the fire screen and in that moment it snarled and reared up on its hind legs, awkwardly knocking into the side door the beast stretched its fingers wide in a show of its horrible claws. It took one step toward him and fell forward with a terrible noise, its claws propelled toward him, its teeth around his neck. He was so startled he hardly had time to be terrified of his imminent death, but now he felt his own blood dripping down his neck - the pain was sure to follow and he closed his eyes to brace for oblivion.

 _Not blood._ It was spit, drool dripping down his neck where its tongue lashed out rough and pebbly over his Adam’s apple. The teeth just touched his skin but  never broke it as it lapped at his flesh, then it moved its ministrations, dragging its tongue up over his chin and around to his ear in a weirdly erotic gesture. “AH” he gasped confused at the sensation, his eyes shot open as it wormed its tongue up the side of his head, licking roughly at his ear and his hair. Taylor turned his head to see what the creature was doing but then felt as much as heard a low threatening noise, the vibrations in the air shimmering over the slick saliva coating his face and neck. From the corner of his eye he could see its cock glistening in the glow of the fire, pink and red it seemed to be just emerging from its sheath ( _like an uncut cock_ ), and the first flash of arousal split the fear that froze him. It hunched over him on all fours, its jaw as hardly and inch from his throat and he could _sense_ its teeth near him as much as he could feel its breathing.

He shifted his left shoulder slowly - even this brought a change in the pitch of its growl - but with the tips of his fingers he was able to reach the shaft and he gingerly placed them beneath the glistening members tip, tenderly massaging the raw wet flesh. It whipped its jaws and snapped, and he stopped - his heart was pounding and he was sweating slightly - but then it humped its hips in his hand, and so still at an awkward angle he wrapped his fingers beneath the slick member and as carefully as he could began to rub it.

He should have been disgusted at the beastly cock in his hand, it was more fully engorged now, its tip was narrow and flattened and flared out like a gardening trowel at the head - the shaft behind was mottled reddish and black and bulged out thickly... _like his cock almost…_ there was no sign of the swollen bulb. The pulse of blood that engorged the member throbbed in his hand giving it a life seemingly all its own, and Taylor felt himself shiver in irrepressible arousal.

The creature then shifted its body, arching its back away from him, it placed its front arm on the chair by the fireplace behind him, and it was as though it was transforming before his eyes - one moment a massive wolf, it now seemed more like a man as its stood on its back legs and brough its hips closer to his head. Now it loomed up over him blocking out all the light except the glowing fire light which caught its eyes, and they held him with their burning intensity - its chest was covered in thick hair but it thinned around its muscular abdomen, thickening again around its sheath and glistening cock and the heavy testicles. Its sheer muscular power seemed to ripple through its body, its thighs flexed to either side of his head, its cock swollen and dripping.

He leaned up on his elbows, then planted his hand behind him to sit up and move his face level with its erection - never breaking eye contact he slowly brought his left hand to encircle the base of the shaft and brought his lips to kiss the slimy tip. The skin was tender and firm and the clear bestial cum filled his senses, taste and smell blurred the pungent tones of urine, the musky sweet bitterness of cum and the sharp coppery smell of its emerged flesh. It was filthy and should have been revolting but as the hulking creature held him in its intense gaze he felt only a powerful uncontrolled desire that caused his being shake physically, his cock, hard as a rock now, swayed between his legs.

He was afraid still, he could not look at it without feeling a pang of mortal dread, but he was filled also with a kind of terrible awe - it hulking form stood over him, its vicious power just barely constrained like an angry god beckoning him to worship. Taylor slipped his tongue beneath the head and spread his lips over it, inhaling the heady mixture as the salty sweetness filled his mouth as its cock dribbled steadily. He let his lips slide over the tip without sucking - just gently caressing the slippery skin with his lips while he curled his tongue along the bottom, then sliding back to once again kiss the hot pulsing head with pursed lips.  

He wanted to slowly worship its cock, but he was starting to feel heady with lust - something seemed to thicken the air besides the dense heat from the coals. Taylor shifted to get his butt beneath him, and then resumed his ministrations, slowly bobbing his lips over the head and and caressing the shaft with his tongue, taking a little more into his mouth with each move of his neck and back. He brought his free hand up and took one of its heavy testicles in hand, it was nearly big as a tennis ball and he caressed it, the hair was coarse but the flesh like soft glove leather. He realized he was grinding his ass into the blanket beneath him, the monstrous cock in his mouth made his asshole tingle with excitement somehow. _That’s so weird_ \- but it felt good.

The slimy shaft fattened past the head and Taylor had to open wider as its redolence filled his mouth, it seemed filled with raw life and throbbed against the roof of his mouth, he carefully kept the fat cock from touching his teeth by guiding the member with his tongue. He was intensely focused on every physical sensation (though he ignored the pain from his sore lips), wanting to burn the feelings into his memory. He slowly pulled back, tightening his lips as the shaft narrowed, he kissed and sucked at the tip with his lips, swallowing the stuff there even as he moved his head to lick the underside of its shaft, he kissed and licked and ran it over his lips before sucking it back between them, as far as he could into his mouth until its swollen soft skin pushed against the back of his throat. He wanted more.

Taylor moved beneath it, shifting his legs out from under him he moved onto his hands and knees, arching his back a little to get his head level with its shaft (the wolf stood still, only bending its thick neck slightly and uttering the slightest of growls, and Taylor wasn’t sure if it was approving or not). Its cock was long and thick, and from this angle he thought  it might be easier to take more down his throat, he took it again in his mouth, pressing with his lips tightly as he bobbed his head further down the shaft. He started to realize he liked this position for more than just the angle, and as he arched his back more and stuck his ass out in a clearly inviting manner he found he liked being supine, on his knees before this creature.

He tried to take its dick further into his throat but felt his gag reflex build and pulled back, but as he did he felt its long powerful fingers curling around his head. _Yes._ The wolf  was panting now with a little guttural grunt underpinning each breath, and now it started to pump its cock into his mouth and Taylor focused on trying to relax his throat, for there was little else he could do - it would kill him if he resisted. He wanted to look into its eyes, but it had hunched over now was eagerly pumping its slick dick over his lips, his mouth made sloppy slurping noises as he tried to suck and control the shaft. It started pushing deeper, holding his head in a powerful grip it pushed steadily until finally his throat relented.

The physical urge spasmed through his body, his chest tightened but Taylor was getting better and he kept the bile down, but forgot to inhale when it humped and was quickly losing breath. But he really didn’t care, he was more trying to tighten his throat and flex his neck muscles around the bulging intruder. It pulled back and he sucked in air around its dick before it forced itself deep, he half felt the need to push back, but he kept his hands on the ground as his abdomen tightened and bile rose, he needed to breath but all he could feel was the steady thump of its pulsing sex as it pressed its knot against his streaming nose.

 _The knot._ It relented and he nearly fell off its cock as he rocked back for air. The knot had formed above the base of its shaft, thicker than the rest but it sort of slowly tapered into a fist-sized bulge of slick, throbbing aroused flesh. Taylor hardly had two breaths before he was violently upended, the beast grabbed him around the waist and like he weighed no more than a twig lifted his ass up as it stood up tall. “ACK!” Taylor awkwardly felt his back slap into its cock and abdomen as he was suspended in the air ( _how fucking tall is this thing?!_ ) and its tongue was probing lapping with wild alacrity, as though it were starving.

“Oh oh… oh fuck...oh” the mixture of sensations was profoundly disorienting. It’s strong, wet pebbly tongue licked and lapped over his balls and down his crack in incredible pleasure, even as he tried to sort out being suspended upside down. _How is it so strong!?_ But he couldn’t keep from moaning at the incredible feeling, even its tongue had a preternatural power that overwhelmed, and his voice hit a high register he hadn’t heard since high school as it pushed inside his hole. “Yeah oh...fuck...fuck yes...yes...ahhhhh...fuck” He knew he sounded like a bitch in heat, but then decided he _was_ a bitch in heat, and who the fuck cared about anything? A fucking monster was licking his asshole and it was amazing.

He managed to bend his leg and plant a stabilizing foot on its shoulder and started wiggling and humping his ass back, and this only seemed to drive the beast more wild, it pulled out its tongue and licked his crotch all over, slathering over his balls and taint before eagerly shoving its incredible tongue back in. The rough texture, slick and hot sliding over his sensitive muscle was near overwhelming, and his whole body writhed with pleasure that threatened to fill him to bursting and suck his body dry all at once.

Without warning it lowered him so quickly he had to put out his hands to keep from hitting his head, he couldn’t tell what wa going on and then it was falling or bending over him. He managed to hook the leg he’d braced with about its waist as he slid down on his back and its hulking, hairy form fell over him with a force that shook his mother’s China in the kitchen cabinets. It had planted one big paw-hand above him and with the other still gripping his waist, it pulled his sopping ass towards its cock.

 

_Yes._

 

It was humping blindly and feverishly, the hot tip poking all over his ass. Taylor had perhaps never wanted anything more in his life, and despite the heady sex filling the air he focused, wrapping his other leg around its waist and using the leverage to lift his ass towards its dripping member. When it stabbed home he yelled out and, surprising the horny boy, it slowed its thrusts - having found his hole and heard his cry it seemed content to enter him slowly. But Taylor wanted it in him, wanted to feel it filling him, and he couldn’t keep from humping his hips down on the tip. The stretching feeling was intense, it was sore and tight, but it felt incredibly pleasurable, it was hot, and played slickly over the muscle that beneath groans of pain sang songs of delight.

“Fuck, yes.” There, in the quaint, cozy  living room he’d grown up playing in in the summers, he lay on his back with a beast bent over him - it’s arms planted and its back legs hunched as he humped its reddish, horrible cock into his hungry hole. It started humping into him in tight little jerks of its hips, each thrust spreading his hole over its shaft, and even that was starting to feel good, like the sublime release of a firm massage. As it humped itself deeper he absently grabbed hold of one arm so,it didn’t fuck him across the floor, using the his grip to push his ass back onto it. He was looking down mesmerized as the slick thing pushed deeper and wider, the knot not far from his ass. _Fuck me, I want it in me. I need it all in me._

“Uhhhgh fuck me” he heard himself say, but didn’t recognize the high pitched whiny, needy voice. _Don’t I?_ He ran his free hand over the tender soft-leather flesh of its muscular belly, letting go its arm and holding on with his legs wrapped tight, he let his hands roam over its abdomen feeling the muscles contract as it fucked him with harder thrusts. He lovingly, worshipfully, touched its muscular chest, played his hands over the almost human looking pectorals. He saw then it was watching him as it humped its fat slick cock into him and he looked back at it, its eyes a fire that seared him somewhere deeper than he’d known before.

“I’m your fucking bitch.”

He’d wanted to say it, needed to say it, say it where the thing could hear it. Where _he_ could hear it. He’d no idea if the growl it issued meant it understood, but the beast began fucking into him harder then, it’s powerful hips pushing and pulling the swollen shaft over his hole, every slippery pump of its cock sending warm tickling pleasure to curl like warm smoke up through his core. It’s hips flexed and thrust feverishly, now slamming it’s swollen knot against his gripping hole. Taylor was moaning mindlessly, guttural breathy noises that would have made a porn star blush.

 _I fucking need it._ He wrapped his legs tighter, pulling his asshole flush against the slimy knot. Somehow he locked his ankles together despite the wolf’s aggressive pounding, and he started to hump and pull himself deeper, he was stretching, slowly and painfully  it was moving in, each hot centimeter bringing waves of of that intense pleasure and pain. He was sweating, he reached blindly to place a hand to grab its bicep, another gyration and it pumped into him a little more, it was doing its little eager thrusts now and he was making high-pitched noises with each one, the two horny creatures eager to have his knot buried. The little noises turned into words, someone was saying over and over “fuck your bitch fuck your bitch fuck your bitch” but it couldn’t be him ( _what am I saying_ ), his mind was too messy to keep up with his mouth and it was pushing deeper, wider, it hurt like hell but he couldn’t tell the where the pleasure and pain differed now, he felt high, light, sweaty. And there was no stopping this vicious creature, it was too strong, too powerful, he had to give in, submit, take whatever it wanted to give him.

“AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!” A loud squeal erupted as his hole stretched impossibly tight over the last millimeter of throbbing, semen-filled flesh. He let go of its arm and fell back onto the disheveled blanket, his legs only loosely wrapped around it - it was hot, incredibly hot, and big, it filled his asshole with that pulsing heat pressing against that spot deep within. He was almost unconscious and fully exhausted, sweat covered his lithe form, and he could not see but his face looked vacant as a drunk’s, and his head kind of felt like that.

He clenched his ass instinctively and a squirt of precum spurted from his cock, which was harder than he’d ever felt it and flush as a rod against his belly. The beast was hunching down over him, lowering down on its long arms and pressing its weight onto his ass and forcing him to spread his legs wider, Taylor was shaking all over as his muscles felt exhausted and loose and the sensations from his asshole rolled over his body in waves, he felt like he was standing next to giant speakers that was playing pleasure over his body.

The wolf pulled its rear legs up further beneath it, pulling his tightly knotted ass up a little and forcing his legs to splay out wide as it began to hump into him with a frantic energy. The feeling was like nothing he’d ever experienced, and the last 48 hours had brought so much new to him already. It was grunting and breathing in animalistic noises and he felt spit drooling down on his chest.  The knot tight and buried pulled and pumped as its cock pressed somewhere deep in him, and every little pounding of its hairy hips against his ass pulled and stretched his hole, though the knot was going nowhere. The thick swollen bulb was warm and slick and it pressed that spot ( _my g-spot -_ he almost giggled at the thought), rubbing over it and it felt like electric shocks radiated out from his core, and his asshole clenched tight was tickling and tingling with that new wonderful feeling as it fucked him wildy.

It was so close down over him, Taylor wanted to feel every inch of the powerful creature, he grabbed its shoulders, kneading muscles beneath its hair as they flexed with each little pump, he ran his fingers through its hair, gripping its neck and then touching its ears. They stared at each other, the thing’s breath underlaid by guttural noises and as he caressed its long, pointed ears shaping the hair there between his fingers as its eyes held him with their piercing yellowish fury and he decided they were lovely. Its knot pulsed and pulled, he shuddered, its drool dripped down into his slack mouth. _I took his knot._ “I’m your good little bitch” he said, almost inaudibly and the fireplace _popped_ as though to punctuate.

Maybe it did understand him, because its tongue was in his mouth and he moaned – a deep, powerful noise that sounded as though it had been building inside him for days. Its filthy breath no longer registered as he wrapped his tongue around its own, licking and sucking at it as he held tight to its neck and pulled himself close, absentmindedly gyrating his hips and pressing his leaking cock against its warm torso. The beast’s tongue pushed forcefully in and Taylor pressed his lips to its warm slippery surface as he caressed it with his own tongue, trying to burn the sensation into his memory even as he had to focus on not cutting himself on its sharp teeth.

Then suddenly it threw its head up, a thread of spittle dripping down in Taylor’s slack mouth, and let out a noise that was almost human sounding, a deep coarse “ahhhhhhhh” sort of noise that seemed to shake the walls, and even the fire seemed to dim and shrink away from the sound. It was coming inside him, he could feel the knot pressed tight against his sphincter and g-spot as it spasmed and pulsed. “Ooohhhhhhh” slipped out as Taylor felt its cum start to fill his ass, it was a weird hot pressure, every throbbing spurt pushing the cum out of its knot into his ass. That hot, full pressure was building up and seemed to push its warmth to the tips of his fingers where he held it tight, and his sphincter pulsed and flexed tight around the base of its shaft as its head dropped down, its jaw slack. Taylor pulled himself closer, licking like a hungry child at its tongue, he was still wiggling and humping his ass on its shaft, and suddenly that growing fullness felt like it was pushing his own cum out of his body.

Taylor came with such a force, and the feelings were so overwhelming, that he almost lost consciousness - his vision swam and the world seemed to move around him as his cock erupted with a watery spray of cum. The smokey heat of the coals and mix of its musty scent and its foul spit on his face filled his head like he was inhaling markers back in grade school. His ass was filled with its throbbing knot of sex-filled flesh pushing against his prostate, his sphincter gripped tight to the base of the wolf’s cock sending shockwaves of electric pleasure that wracked his body. He whimpered as the wave slammed home and his cock sprayed out another spurt that splashed warm and wet across his chest and chin. Darkness lit with sparks pulled at the corners of his vision and Taylor fell back to the blanketed floor as his arms lost their strength, writhing his hips and ass in ecstasy at the feeling of the beastly cock buried inside him. His painfully hard dick sprayed again and then again, it felt with the same rhythms of the wolf’s dick inside pouring into its knotted bitch, and he felt it splatter across his face and shoulders. He tried to breathe, his exhalations filled with uncontrollable noises of pleasure that joined the rasping labored breath of his monstrous lover.

Taylor felt its tongue once more on his skin, lapping at his own cum where it sprayed on his chest and shoulders, the slick roughness mercilessly stimulating him in the hypersensitive post-orgasm glow - he whined with his inhalation. The wolf licked up his chin, slathering it tongue all over his face before pushing it between his lips. He welcomed it with a little contented moan, lazily running his tongue over the  powerful, tender muscle that seemed equally lazy in its explorations. He felt it shifting, placing its long arms around his shoulders as it rolled onto its side, Pulling him tight so he rolled with it - its knot was still stuck inside him and he felt it tug at his hole as they moved, shifting his leg beneath it that was still wrapped around its waist. He let his head rest against the beast’s broad, hairy chest and felt its breathing slow as he vaguely registered its hair plastering to his sticky face. He was so tired, his limbs felt heavy beyond moving, and the thoughts and fears that entered his head post-orgasm were too weighty to lift, so he dropped them. The fire was quietly dismantling the last log sending gentle waves of warmth to wash across Taylor’s naked back where he lay wrapped in the strong arms of a nightmarish creature, a monster that simply shouldn’t exist. He fell blissfully into sleep, and was snoring softly by the time it’s cock slipped from hole, its sex fully drained into him.

 

***

_He waved at his parents from the window, his mother always had her gentle smile and waved to him, his father had his own way of smiling that fought with his lips - but he could see the pride in his eyes._

_But it was time to start the exam, someone said. Light poured through the six foot windows that ran one side of classroom, it was the sterile and tidy room he usually had English composition in, but this wasn’t comp. All the guys had their shirts off, but he was the only one in his underwear, and was embarrassed they’d all see he wore briefs._

_Taylor was at a desk, which was weird because this room had tables not desks, but now Van sat on the desktop in front of him, his thick cock erect and glistening, his legs spread to either side of Taylor. He wanted to pass the test, his heart raced though because the other guys would know - know he sucked cock. Taylor wanted to run his hands over his thighs, there was nothing more erotic to him than this sight of him with his hairy legs leading up to the thick bush surrounding that amazing cock, it dripped precum now and it fell to the old-fashioned wooden seat and made a loud splashing noise the echoed through the space._

They’ll know. _He didn’t say it aloud but Van could hear it._ Don’t you want them to know? They might need their cocks sucked too. _Taylor looked around, and saw the guy nearest (wasn’t he from Anthropology class?) his crotch bulged out with an unmistakable erection, and Taylor felt his own cock start to strain in his briefs. He looked out the window, his parents were still there, but their faces were stern, a look he’d seen a lot as child. Van leaned over and stretched his arm across the room to pull the cord that lowered the blinds, hiding them from view._

Go on. _Taylor leaned forward, licked the salty viscous stuff off the tip of his cock, running his tongue beneath the skin covering his cock head. The guys jeered and whistled loudly around him, but he spread his lips over the head, blushing terribly but undeterred. He was going to pass the test. He smelled the ruddy scent of Van’s crotch and his own hardon was dripping now, he smelled smoke too…_

 

 **Wednesday**  

 

He was flying now, naked with an erection, in smokey air - and water was running somewhere beneath him. _Or a toilet flushing._ Taylor slowly let his eye open a slit. He was on the floor looking at the big picture window, and the thin light in the sky told him it was early morning. He heard a fire crackling behind him, and then soft footfalls bringing that signature creak from the top stair leading down from the bathroom landing. Wrapped in his heavy felt blanket, Taylor didn’t feel much like moving, but he tilted his head a little to see a stark naked Van stretching his back in the morning light, his heavy dick hanging down half erect.

“You slept here?” Taylor’s voice was lazy and he yawned eat the end of “here”. Van looked down on him with an indifferent gaze. “Yeah, I was pretty wiped out” was all he said. _Even monsters get sleepy._ Taylor was still sleepy, and tucked his head back into the blanket. He started awake when he felt Van grab his hand, and found the other man squatting naked in front of him as he pressed Taylor’s thumb to his iPhone lock. “Get up.”

Waking up meant facing the day, figuring things out… all unappetizing prospects. But he heard Van’s voice again from his warm felty darkness. “Don’t make me repeat myself. I need to open the store and you need to get on the road.”   _The road_ … panic flooded in at the idea of driving back to college, facing those people, his few friends, to playing the alien he’d played all his life. He sat up, and looked at Van, who was sprawled naked on the sofa doing something with Taylor’s phone. “How can I go back? To all that? After... ” He couldn’t keep the words in his mouth, they poured out of him in a supplicatory stream, “after everything, I don’t know what… I don’t what to do. What am I supposed to… to be?” His voice was sad, scared, like a child’s voice – the fear so obvious in his tone, he’d have been disgusted with himself before, but he just let it show. There was nothing the other didn’t seem to know, anyway.

Van sat up on the couch, gesturing with his head for Taylor to sit next to him “come here.” Taylor rose slowly, his thighs feeling sore and his ass felt weirdly full, a sensation he was becoming familiar with. His heart was beating too fast, and his mind was suddenly spinning with confusing impulses - desire at the naked man, fear at the prospect of speaking to other human beings… uncertainty on how he should behave in this moment. He held blanket around his shoulders and walked around the coffee table to sit on the blue fabric of the sofa, and Van promptly extended his legs, pressing his bare feet into Taylor’s balls with a gentle pressure.

Taylor made no move to stop him, he just looked Van in the eye, trying hard to convey without words the fearful disquiet within himself, though Van’s face was a mask, his eyes impassive as always. “Of course you’re going back to school, I don’t want a stupid bitch” he said, and Taylor felt that panic tighten inside him,  “you’re mine, you’ll do as you’re told” it was a simple statement of fact, as though he were answering a child’s questions about what clouds were made of. “Stroke my cock” Taylor flushed a little at the command, at _being commanded,_ but his hand moved seemingly on its own to encircle the thickening shaft, and with a light grip he began to move his hand up and down, pushing and pulling the foreskin over the head as he quietly enjoyed the feeling of the soft, warm skin. “What’s your GPA?”

 _GPA_ ? The question caught Taylor so off guard he momentarily stopped stroking Van’s dick, until the other raised an eyebrow in warning. _What does that matter?_ He tried to think, but he’d not really checked his GPA anytime recently. “Umm… I’m not sure, I make more C’s than anything else. Never failed anything?”

Van was tapping in Taylor’s phone, his brow furrowed. “Not good enough, you need to make at least B’s, so you’ll need to spend more time doing your school work” again the tone of his voice  was light but firm, almost parental. Taylor wasn’t sure what was going on, so he just stroked the now engorged erection, “what’s your major?” Taylor hadn’t decided, but was supposed to soon someone had said - and he hadn’t thought much about that either. “I … haven’t really decided. I um… liked my anthropology courses… and I’ve taken some business stuff too… kinda boring but probably better jobs with that?”

Van continued typing into his phone. “Good, major in anthropology, minor in business - will be more work. Try and do some business research on how to make small local stores successful, like online and marketing and stuff.” _He’s telling me what to do with my fucking life,_ Taylor realized, and it made him feel … weird. “Suck.”

Taylor twisted his waist a little and bent over automatically while he was thinking about this new turn in their days-old relationship. But Van continued talking, “I want you to practice sucking cock, I’ve downloaded Grindr and made you a profile” Taylor knew what Grindr was, he’d used Tinder to hook up at college and it had come up in his app store, and he recalled blushing even looking at it. Now he was frozen in place, his lips centimeters from Van’s foreskin-hooded cock head as Van held out his phone, and Taylor saw a flattering picture of his own naked torso and orange letters above it that read “SubSlut427”. Van said “You can’t shut this off, and it will show people close by and how far away they are” he smiled with devious pleasure.

In the space of a few seconds, Taylor had to sift through a torrent of thoughts.

_No way, everyone would find out!_

_I’ve never even sucked a guys cock before yesterday._

_I guess it isn’t like my face is on there._

_There’s a lot of guys in school and in town..._

_What can I do anyway? He’s got those videos, better than people knowing he pissed in my mouth._

_I guess I have to do it._

_I want to._

 

He closed his eyes, his stomach was twisting with excitement and new trepidation. He knew Van was pushing him, making him face humiliation on purpose, and he could imagine his friends if they found out. _I’m not part of their world anymore… just let him keep leading the way._ After all, right from the start Van had seemingly known him better than he knew himself.

Taylor didn’t say a word, he just pressed his lips to the waiting the cock throbbing in his grip, slowly wrapping them over the head, inhaling the scent of his manhood. _Just do what you’re told._ He couldn’t see, but Van smiled where he lay back, a little look of triumph playing across his face before his quietude returned.

“You’ll have to use condoms if anyone fucks you, I don’t want some disease-ridden bitch coming home on weekends.” Taylor listened to his commands as he slid the thick cock into his mouth, but one word stuck in his head and wouldn’t move: _home._ He let the blanket fall to the sofa and crawled up on all fours to get in better position and looked up at Van as he pushed the swollen head of his cock to the back of his throat and kept pushing, gagging but not stopping and not looking away, he swallowed the length of the shaft down his sore throat. Van put a hand behind his head, and they looked at one another - Van with the faintest smile and a commanding gaze, Taylor’s eyes half-lidded has he was held in place, “Good boy” Van said, and though his body writhed and bucked as he gagged, the feeling of total, humiliating  submission was so powerful he almost shot his load right there on the couch. Though he would take time to consciously admit to it to himself, he understood in that moment that submitting to the more powerful man was something that went beyond erotic thrill for him.

At last, Van let him up and Taylor gasped for breath, his face streaming tears from the physical strain of having to keep his bile down. In a quick motion Van moved his leg over Taylor’s head and stood, grabbing his hair and shoving him gasping face-first into the cushion. Taylor’s heard him spit and felt the thick warm stuff fall on his hole. Taylor had hoped he might just be able to suck Van off, his ass felt weird, sore and full with all that cum, the last thing he wanted was something shoved inside him. But he surprised himself by not saying anything, _he wants to take me._ He realized then that he’d actually never been fucked by a man.

The thick head of Van’s shaft was slowly, steadily pushing at his asshole, slick but sore it spread millimeter by millimeter - it was tight, and it felt like something would come out of him, but Taylor just mewled and pushed his head into the pillow. “Fuuuuuck, I can’t believe you’re still so tight after what I did to you last night” there was obvious pleasure in Van’s voice, and he found his mewling turn to a moan at the thought of himself being fucked for the third time is as many days. Physically it was really uncomfortable, but Taylor found something mentally enjoyable about pleasuring Van, and as he squeezed his cheeks around the crown of the head pushing into his hole, he realized how he’d changed.

He _cared_ , cared about the other man’s pleasure, cared about his desire, his approval. This realization dawned not consciously but as raw emotional need, he let it flood his whole body, he’d tried for so long not to - not to give a shit, not to think about things, he’d thought that’s what he was _supposed_ to do, supposed to _be_ . Everything was so much harder when you cared, when things–anything– mattered… but now he couldn’t stop - he wanted to make Van feel good, _amazing_.

Taylor moaned, arching his back and pushing his ass back on Van’s cock,  humping himself back until the head slipped inside him, making him moan louder - a feminine, vulnerable noise of desire. “Pick up your phone and start recording”.

Taylor found the phone lying near him and did as he was told, reversing the camera to see his own face contorted in a weird mix of discomfort and pleasure as Van slid fully in the feeling of fullness and pressure increased, and Taylor couldn’t help but make a deep grunting noise as Van pulled back - he tightened his hole, worried he couldn’t keep the cum inside him. He felt Van fall over his back, and almost dropped his phone when Van pulled his mouth to his - and he found that much like beast, even his kisses were forceful. He moaned at the feeling as he hungrily sucked Van’s tongue between his lips, pressing his tongue out, relishing the feeling. _I was good, I earned it._ The simple thought washed away his discomfort in his ass, which was actually starting to feel really good,

Van was fucking him hard, pressing hips down on Taylor’s ass with quick, tight pumps of his thighs. When their mouths parted Taylor said,”I never kissed a guy before.” He had no idea why he said it, and he felt like giggling, it was true after all. It made Van kind of smirk too, before he grabbed Taylor by the hair practically shouting in his ear, “Fucking faggot bitch”.

The words only made him even hotter,  “uhhhhh yeah” _bitch,_ he shivered all over. Van leaned back, and though he didn’t think it possible, he started pounding into Taylor even more forcefully, slamming into him so hard Taylor’s whole body shook with the power of his thrusts as their skin smacked noisily together. Taylor had to nestle the still recording phone into the pillows as he couldn’t hold it steady. He felt Van pull his head up as his cock mercilessly slammed into him.

“You a fucking faggot?!” Van pulled hard on his hair, but somehow the pain in his scalp was turning Taylor on.

“AHHHHHH yes! Fuck… yes I’m a faggot!” Taylor whined in answer, and he felt his hair let go and his head fell forward so he was staring at the camera that captured all. He grabbed Taylor’s waist, yelling gruffly over the sound of their flesh slapping together. “You gonna be my good little bitch?!” A hand fell hard on his ass with a loud, painful SMACK. “Ah! Yes! Fuck...ahhh yes!” He heard his own whiny voice, saw his lust-lidded eyes in the screen.

Van’s arm encircled his chest and pulled him back flush against him, sweat sticking Taylor’s back to the other’s chest as his dick pumped up into Taylor in little jerks, pushing his prostate. A hand wrapped around his throat, but didn’t squeeze. Taylor lay his head back on Van’s shoulder, feeling his lips near his ear. “You gonna do whatever I tell you, bitch?” Taylor smiled loosely, _are these wedding vows?!_ The thought felt silly and serious at once.

Taylor whispered,“yes. Whatever you say. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you” he was a little surprised to realize he meant it. _I’ll make you so fucking happy._

“Louder” Van was running his hands over his chest and abdomen, driving Taylor wild. “AH, I’ll do whatever you say, whenever. I’ll do anything you want!” He was shoved forward and had to catch himself as the forceful pounding of his ass resumed, and Taylor vaguely realized it was feeling good, his cock was dripping a little stream of precum.  He absently brought a hand up to stroke himself but felt a hard _SLAP_ on his other cheek and yelped, “no touching your cock from now on” he took his hand away.  Then he felt a hand take him by the hair again, “look into the camera” Taylor did, finding pure lustful happiness in his eyes, Van looking at him with that handsome smirk - “say you’re my bitch”.

Taylor practically shouted “I’m your bitch, uhhhhh!”  His voice shook from the force with which he was being fucked.

“Say my name.”

“I'm your— I’m Van’s bitch” he looked directly at the camera, not the screen, as he said this in that his needy tone.

“Say you’re my faggot.” Taylor didn't hesitate. “Uhhh fuck— I’m your faggot, I’m Van’s fucking faggot!” His voice betrayed the perverse pleasure he took in saying this. Van’s voice was stern, his eye we’re closed as he started pulling his cock almost all the way out before slamming it home with each thrust. “Say it, say it again - say it until I come in your faggot pussy.”

 _Pussy._ The word enveloped him, so degrading it made him want to cry out in pleasure, and so he did,  “aahhhhhhhh yes, I’m Van’s bitch… I’m his faggot bitch….” he stared at the camera and the screen, as though he were talking to himself, “I’m Van’s little faggot….I’ll do whatever you say…fuck!... fuck yes! ahhhhh... I’m your bitch I’m your bitch faggot... fuck me! Cum in me! Cum in your bitch. Cum in my faggot pussy!” As though on command Van let out a bestial growl, slamming his cock deep one last time as he fell forward, pushing Taylor’s face down into the sofa cushion. Taylor squeezed his ass together, and wriggled his hips as he reveled in the feeling of the cock in him, trying to milk it of all the cum in Van’s balls ( _I can’t believe there’s any left!)._

Later that evening, when he replayed the video of their early morning fuck, he saw the phone tumble over when Van fell on top of him. The camera, on its side, happened to catch his face in that moment - eyes closed, mouth agape but smiling, the other’s ragged breath in his ear.

Van’s offscreen, breath-filled voice said, “Good bitch”.

 

***

 

Half an hour outside of Columbia, South Carolina there were signs for an “Adult Superstore”off of I-85, and Taylor went as far as pulling off at the exit and into the parking lot of the low slung, seedy looking building. But then he got too nervous, and got back on the interstate. He’d been thinking about getting condoms as instructed, but had in the back of his mind thinking about those dildos they sold, but he couldn’t stomach someone seeing him buying one.

Even as he approached the exit for his school, the excitement still buzzed in his veins. _This is going to be hard._ If he was scared of showing up in a sex shop, could he suck random guys cocks as he’d been told? If he was going to do as he was told, he was going to have to man up. Taylor smirked at the phrase, _fag up, more like it._ If he was going to make B’s he’d have to spend a lot more time studying, and writing papers, but he didn’t really mind that. And he had new direction as Van had cryptically asked him to do his anthropology stuff on Native American mythology of North Carolina tribes, in addition to researching small rural stores for his business minor ( _like his, of course_ ). He tried to dwell on these thoughts, but again the anxiety arose at the idea of just sucking cock… just being out there…

Taylor inhaled, filled his lungs as if to drown out the acidic anxiety there, and breathed it all out. He told himself _I have to do it if he’s going to let me come back._ He’d have to do it, and so he’d have to be strong, unafraid. He pulled into his residence parking spot, pulled out his phone, and opened the app.

Taylor was nervous and excited, but unafraid.

 

   

   

 


End file.
